Another Last Goodbye
by Jadey's World
Summary: In the aftermath of Mary's secret being revealed, Dean has fled to think and Sam has followed a dream to California. What he hopes for and what he finds are going to have a lasting impact on all their lives. Part Three of For Your Life
1. Chapter 1

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and Ncsupnatfan and VegasGranny for pre-reading.**

**Welcome to Story Three. I am particularly excited about this one, and I am looking forward to hearing what you think of what I do.**

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_**Chapter One **_

The bar Dean had found was called The Snake Pit. It was dingy, grimy, and they played more Dolly Parton records than any jukebox should reasonably hold. He thought it was okay though. He didn't need plush surroundings tonight, and the music wasn't making an impression on him either. He was too consumed with what had happened.

He was well on his way to drunk, and there was a row of empty shot glasses in front of him where he'd lined up his tequila and slammed them one by one.

He wasn't usually a drinker. He'd done his share of partying in high school, bottles of liquor stolen from parents' drinks cabinets and brought to parties, but he'd never really developed a taste for it. After he'd joined the life full time, he'd stuck mostly to beer, wanting to show his mom and Bobby that he was taking the need to be alert seriously so that they wouldn't doubt his suitability to be a hunter. Even when they'd relaxed their scrutiny, having seen that he was born to do it, he'd not indulged in much more than beer. It was habit by then.

He was drinking tonight though, a man on a mission to be drunk, as he didn't want his brain to be able to work anymore.

The attractive blonde bartender came to him and reached for his empty glasses. Dean held up his hand and said, "Leave them. I'm keeping count."

"Going for the record?" she asked with an amused smile.

"Something like that," Dean grunted.

"Then let me help you out." She took a bottle from the shelf behind her and poured him a shot of tequila. "Drink up."

Dean knocked it back and gasped. "Thanks."

He rooted in his pocket for his wallet and dropped some bills down onto the sticky bar to cover his bill.

"On the house," she said. "I get off at midnight."

Dean pushed the money towards her and said, "I plan to be unconscious by then."

She smiled and picked up the money. "Okay, big guy."

Dean was pleased he hadn't offended her. He would usually be interested in a no-strings night with a pretty woman, but he wasn't in the mood tonight.

His usual conquests were managed so that Mary didn't see them coming and going and could therefore ignore the fact they happened. She was pretty open-minded and accepted that Dean was a young man that wanted a good time as well as to save lives, but he never rubbed her face in it. It was a question of respect for his mother.

"Why are you on a mission for unconsciousness tonight anyway?" she asked.

Dean took a draw on the beer he'd been sipping between shots and said, "That is a very long story."

"Girl trouble?"

Dean chuckled. "I wish. That would be easier. You can break up when girl trouble starts. You can't do that with family. No matter what family does, you're stuck with them."

"You don't have to be," she said. "You can walk away."

Dean shook his head. "Not with my family you can't."

"Would you really want to? Seems to me that someone that can mess you up as much as they have means you really care about them."

"I do," Dean sighed. "More than you can imagine."

That was true. He loved his mother. She, Sam, and Bobby were the people he loved more than anyone else in the world. He trusted them with his life. That was the problem. Trust. Mary had betrayed that.

From as far back as Dean could remember, Mary had instilled honesty into him and Sam. Dean had told the usual lies as a kid—no, I didn't eat all the cookies; no, I didn't break the vase—but they had been innocent kid things that had been left behind before he was in fourth grade.

Mary had never shown that she was angry when she caught them in a lie. It had always been her disappointment that was hard to bear. Dean and Sam had understood how that felt when their lives had changed with the revelation that there was a whole world out there that they were unaware of, the world Mary and Uncle Bobby were a vital part of. Dean had thought that last lie revealed—the one told out of a need to protect not deceive—that the lies had ended for good.

After that Dean had told her everything. He'd never needed to sneak out to go to a party the way his friends did. If Mary or Bobby said it was okay, if they thought he was sensible enough and old enough to go, he had been able to go. His friends had been jealous of his freedom, but Dean had always understood it better than them. If he was old enough to risk his life to hunt with them on the rare occasions he was allowed, he was old enough to party with his friends. They trusted him not to experiment with anything stronger than alcohol and to take care of himself if trouble started.

_He _had been honest, but she had been lying to him the whole time.

He understood her not telling them when they were kids, but when they were older, when they'd started hunting, they would have been ready to know. They would have understood.

In the last two months, she'd have even more reason to tell them, even more opportunities.

When Bobby was talking about how important it was for them to be honest with each other if the demon was coming, when they'd made Sam tell them about Jessica's death and his dreams, it would have been the right time. Sam had been a wreck but he'd told them. She had no excuse. She had even promised them she wasn't hiding anything else when Sam had been worried she thought he was a freak.

She had known all along that the demon was coming for Sam, she'd known it for years, but she had pretended to be as shocked as the rest of them. Perhaps if they'd known, they could have done something about it, protected Sam better, saved Jessica.

They had been unaware though. He and Sam only had the vaguest knowledge of demons, and that was because Sam was bold enough to sneak one of the books on demonology out of the chest when Mary and Bobby had been on a hunt. He'd told Dean what he'd read about holy water before guilt made him put it back. But that was all they'd known. Perhaps if they'd had devil's traps laid down, salt lines, Jessica would have had a chance.

But Mary had told them nothing about demons at all. Dean hadn't been face-to-face with one knowingly until they went to The Roadhouse that night. Now Dean saw that scene in a different light, too.

Mary had gagged that demon when she started talking, wanting to stop it spilling her secrets to them. Was that why she'd kept him away from demons for all his hunting life? Was it about protecting herself not him?

She had lied to him then, too. He had asked if she knew what the demon was talking about when it called her 'chosen', and she'd told him she didn't know what it had meant. Lies upon lies.

And Sam… He thought there was something in him now because of the demon. Was there or was it Clark messing with him?

Dean thought Clark was less likely to screw with Sam than he was Dean himself, but he would probably still do it if he thought it would be fun. He was an asshole. Dean knew that better than anyone.

Was there really something in Sam's blood that made him different? Was he somehow changed because Mary let the demon into their home? And did Mary know about that, too? Was her reaction when Sam had told them another lie?

Dean had questions for her. Had she ever tried to find out why the demon wanted to come into their home in the first place? She'd had twenty-two years to try to find an answer. Had she? Or had she forgotten about it as she saved other people's families instead?

More, the ten years between her deal and the demon coming were the years she was supposed to have turned her back on hunting? Had that meant she'd turned her back on the deal, too?

He had to know. He didn't want to see her, he wanted to actually speak to her even less, but he had to find out. If he was ever going to work through his feelings about this, to help Sam, he needed to know. Sam needed to know even more.

Sam!

Suddenly, Dean was gripped with a sense of doom. He had left Sam as he'd wanted him to, given him his space, but had that been right? Was Sam lying there now, thinking over everything he'd heard, needing to talk as he always had before? Or worse, was he still shut down and feeling nothing at all, needing nothing?

Dean slid off his stool, weaving his way through the people queuing at the bar and waiting for the pool table to be free, and walked outside. The cool air hit him and he shivered. He'd left his coat in Mary's room. The chill also made his head swim as if he'd drunk far more than what he actually had. He had to take a few lung-freezing deep breaths, gripping the wall, before he felt he could walk on.

He rushed down the street, skirting a couple that were walking hand in hand, and turned a corner to the street the motel was on. The closer he got, the more tense he became and the clearer his head seemed. It was this way on a hunt, too. When the moment came to fight or protect, he changed, became focused and ready. He felt that now. He was going to take care of his brother the way he needed, even if they didn't agree on what that need was.

He reached their room and took the key from his back pocket, grateful that he hadn't left it in his coat as the last thing he wanted was to have to see his mother again. He opened the door and went into the dim room. The drapes were closed and the lights switched off, but Dean's eyes adjusted and he looked around, realizing what was wrong at once. The room was silent and Sam's bed was empty.

He switched on the light, now knowing he wasn't going to wake his brother, and went to the bathroom. The door was ajar, and he called Sam's name as he knocked and then slowly pushed it open.

"Sorry, man, just want to make sure you're okay."

The door opened and the room was revealed to be empty.

Dean wondered if Sam had gone to see Mary. That was the kind of thing he would have done once—forgiven and forgotten. Dean wasn't that good of a man. He needed to go there now, though, and make sure Sam was okay.

He walked back to the door and then stopped as he realized what else was wrong with the scene, apart from the fact Sam wasn't there; the room seemed too empty. The hoodie that had been hanging on the back of a chair was gone and Sam's laptop wasn't on the table. He quickly turned and went back into the bathroom, cursing as he saw that Sam's wash kit was missing. He checked under Sam's bed and saw his duffel was gone, too.

He'd left.

Dean yanked open the door and strode to Mary's room, banging on the door with his fist. It was opened, and Mary's wet eyes and downturned lips morphed into relief as she said, "Dean! Thank you. We need to…" She trailed off as she looked at him. "Are you okay?"

"Where's Sam?" he growled, anger and worry prominent in his mind.

She frowned. "I thought he was with you."

Dean cursed. "No. I left him in our room to give him space, but I just checked and he's gone."

"Gone where?"

"I don't know, but he's taken all his stuff with him."

Mary clapped a hand to her mouth and her eyes widened.

Dean turned away and she caught his arm. He rounded on her and growled, "You did this! You've driven him away."

She didn't speak, but she nodded and her eyes filled with tears.

Dean pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial assigned to Sam. It rang, and Dean tapped his hand impatiently on the wall as he waited for it to be answered. It went through the voicemail and Sam's dull voice—recorded just after the fire—asked him to leave a message.

"Sammy, call me," Dean said. "I need to know you're okay."

"Maybe he's with Clark," Mary said quietly.

Dean spun on his heel and jogged around the motel to the back where Clark's room was. He found the right door and slapped a hand on it, calling, "Open up, Clark!"

There was a harsh laugh inside and then the door swung open and Clark was revealed, a cigarette hanging from his mouth and an open bottle of whiskey in his right hand.

He drew on the cigarette and then said, "Well, Mary, you _really _screwed up this time."

Dean looked past him but Clark was blocking the door.

"Have you seen Sam?" Mary asked.

"Yes," he said smugly.

Dean pushed into his space, breathing in the smell of state cigarettes and whiskey, and called, "Sammy?" as he tried to see into the room.

"Shout a little louder and he might hear you in Montana," Clark said.

Mary gasped. "Montana!"

Clark rolled his eyes. "Joke. He can't teleport, no matter what else he's capable of. I don't know where he is now. I just dropped him off at the bus station."

Dean leaned back, away from the smell, and said, "Where's he going?"

Clark shrugged and took a draw on his bottle, gasped, and said, "How would I know? It's not like I bought him a ticket, and he didn't tell me."

"You let him leave!" Dean said, his voice rising with his anger.

Clark scowled. "Mind your tone, boy. I didn't _let _him do anything. I just gave him a ride when he asked. Don't blame me because you chose to get loaded instead of talking to him." He sniffed the air and said, "Tequila?"

"He said he wanted to be alone," Dean said, feeling defensive though neither Clark or Mary had a right to judge him.

"He did, just more alone than he told you. Your mother is the one that screwed him up. And then you left him. Are you really surprised he didn't want to stay?"

Dean's anger built. "Don't blame me for this."

Clark rolled his eyes and drew on his cigarette. "Fine," he said, blowing a cloud of smoke into Dean's face. "I won't blame you. I'll let Sammy do that himself."

Dean's frayed temper snapped and he shoved Clark's shoulders. His cigarette dropped from his hand to the dirty carpet and the bottle in his hand swung. Clark stamped on the cigarette to extinguish it and he shoved a hand forward. Though it didn't make contact with Dean, he felt a wave of force shoving him back to knock into Mary's shoulder.

"I'll give you that one," Clark said. "But if you try to touch me again, I promise you'll regret it. Save your anger for the one that really deserves it." He looked pointedly at Mary who ducked her head. "All I did was give Sam what he needed. He wanted to get away, so I helped him."

"Did he say anything?" Mary asked.

Clark laughed harshly. "He said plenty, and I could _feel_ what a mess he was in. He told me what you did, Mary." He shook his head, looking amused. "What the hell were you thinking telling him that?"

"You told me to!" Mary said incredulously.

"I didn't know it was something that twisted," Clark said, no sign of defensiveness in him. He was stating a fact. "What you did to that kid…" He shook his head. "How was I to know someone as vanilla as you would do that to your own son?"

Mary winced and Dean turned away. He was angry at Clark for helping Sam leave, furious with his mother, but his instincts were taking over, helping him to reach a place in which he could work the problem.

"We need to call Bobby," he said. "Sam might be going home."

"I really doubt it," Clark said with a chuckle.

"Or he might call him," Dean went on, ignoring the smug man behind him.

Mary took out her phone and dialled with trembling fingers. Dean plucked it out of her hand and put it on speaker.

"_Mary? What's going on? It's late," _Bobby said as he answered.

"Have you spoken to Sam?" she asked.

"_No. Why?"_

Mary looked at Dean, her expression imploring though Dean didn't know what she wanted.

"Sam's taken off," Dean said. "Something happened and he's upset. We're hoping he's coming to you."

"Because you're dumb as a box of rocks," Clark muttered.

"_I'll call him," _Bobby said.

"He's not answering, Bobby," Mary said quietly.

"_He might answer me. Hold on."_ There was the sound of a number being dialled on one of Bobby's older model wall phones that he kept for his various personas and then a wait before he said, _"No answer. I'll keep trying."_

"Thank you, Bobby," Mary said. "We'll call when we find him."

Clark snorted and Dean sighed. She said it as if she really believed it was going to happen. He had his doubts. Sam was smart enough to avoid them if he wanted to. He just had to hope Sam changed his mind and decided to be found.

Bobby said gruff goodbyes and ended the call. Mary took the phone back and tucked it into her pocket.

"I'm going to the bus station," Dean said. "He might still be there."

"I'll go," Mary said. "You can't drive. You're drunk."

"And you're a liar," Dean spat. "Which of us do you think Sam wants to see right now?"

Mary's expression hardened. "I know you're angry, you have a right to be, but that doesn't mean I'm letting you drive yourself into a tree trying to drive like this. You are my son and so is Sam. I am going to the station. You can come if you want."

Dean glowered at her but he knew she was right. He was in no state to drive, and maybe they could find Sam between them. There would be two of them looking.

"Fine," he said. "Let's go."

"Good luck," Clark said, lifting his bottle to them in a salute.

Dean ignored him and walked away. Clark was an asshole, but he already knew that. Mary was a liar, and he knew that now. Sam was missing, upset and headed he didn't know where, so Dean was going to concentrate on that. He would find his brother and give him what he needed.

If he still wanted to get away, Dean would go with him.

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**So… Dean is **_**angry**_**. I struggled to write him like this as I'd spent two stories showing how close they all were. It felt wrong to me, but Dean was determined to be angry, so I went ahead with his lead. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading.**

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**_Chapter Two_**

Sam's euphoria at the possibility of seeing Jessica made the pain easier to manage following his vision, and even the fluorescent lights of the Greyhound station didn't make him need to squeeze his eyes closed to shield himself from their glare the way the dim overhead lights in the motel had after he'd used his powers before. He was in pain, but it was overwhelmed by other things. He was pleased about it as he knew he needed to be alert to get away from here before someone else showed up.

He had arrived at the station an hour ago, but the bus he wanted that would get him to Topeka where he could catch a bus to California hadn't been due to leave, so he'd gotten himself a coffee and sat in the waiting area, watching the clock.

He was very aware of time passing, knowing that every minute he waited was another that could mean his family could come. He didn't know how long Dean would stay at the bar, if Mary would come looking for them sooner, how long it would take them to find out from Clark where he had taken him, but they _would_ come eventually, and Sam wanted to be gone when they did.

He felt some guilt for taking off the way he had, but it was almost completely overshadowed by the fact of where he was going and what he was hoping to find there. Dean would be upset when he found him gone, and Mary, too, but he wasn't sure how he felt about her. It was hard to think of anything but Jessica. He would call them when he was settled, when he knew what he was going to do next. He would be selfish until then.

His bus was announced, and he got quickly to his feet and went outside to the terminal it was parked at a stop, and Sam joined the queue waiting to board. He had checked in his duffel, and only had his laptop bag over his shoulder to worry about.

The queue moved slowly, but soon he was on the bus showing the driver, a middle-aged woman, his ticket.

"Pick a spot. There's plenty," she said.

Sam thanked her and then froze as he heard a voice behind him that made his heart stutter.

"Slow down, Dean!

It was his mother. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw her jogging after Dean who was running inside the station.

Sam's muscles unlocked and he hurried along the aisle to the back on the bus where he fell into a seat and ducked low. The windows were shaded, so they couldn't see inside, even if they had been looking, but Sam was still nervous. What if they followed him on to check the bus? He needed to know.

He stowed his laptop overhead and then settled back in his seat, looking around to make sure no one was watching, and relaxed himself. It was easier than it had been before, perhaps because his body and power knew he needed this. His eyes fell closed and he felt himself lifting out of his body.

He didn't stop to look at himself, he just concentrated on his brother and whipped through the air to the ticket desk where Dean and Mary were waiting behind a man trying to plan a route with the ticket clerks help.

When the man had moved away, Dean stepped up to the clear plastic divider and spoke in a rush. "We're looking for someone. He would have gotten a ticket from you in the last couple hours."

The ticket clerk, an uninterested looking man with red hair and shadowed eyes said, "I haven't seen anyone."

Dean glowered. "He's really tall and his hair is around here." Dean held up his hand around his jaw, an exaggeration of Sam's length. "We need to know where he's going."

The man shrugged. "I haven't seen any hairy giants. Can't help you."

"Would you tell us if you had?" Mary asked, moving close to Dean. Sam noticed Dean moved a little away from her, as if having her in his space bothered him.

"Probably not."

Dean's hands fisted, and Sam thought he would have been throwing punches if there was not a divider between him and the clerk.

Mary pulled a bill out of her wallet and passed it through the slot. "How about now?"

The man picked up the money and unfolded it, his eyes widening slightly as he saw it was a fifty-dollar bill. "I would," he said. "But I haven't. Thanks for the tip though," He tucked the bill in the pocket of his shirt.

"You asshole!" Dean snapped, his voice rising.

Mary grabbed his arm and tugged him away. "Calm down."

Dean yanked free. "You did this!" he hissed. "He's taken off because of you!"

Mary's eyes filled with tears. "Do you really think I don't know that? But we need to concentrate on what matters. He's not here. We need to try calling him again."

She took out her phone and dialed before putting it on speaker and holding it between them. Sam waited to see if Clark would answer, but before the call could connect, he felt someone shaking his arm hard and he snapped back to his body and opened his eyes to searing pain.

"Oh, thank god," the woman leaning over him said, releasing the arm she had been shaking. "I thought you were… You didn't look like you were breathing."

"I just fell asleep," Sam lied. "Sorry if I scared you."

"You really did," she replied, giving him an assessing look that told Sam she wasn't convinced but had no other explanation for what she had seen.

The engine started and she gave Sam a quick look before dropping into the seat on the opposite side of the aisle.

Sam knew he couldn't project again if she was watching, so he watched out of the window, trying to ignore the pounding in his head, as Mary and Dean came out of the station and stopped. Mary looked up at the bus, looking right at the place Sam sat, and then she turned away, her face in lines of sadness.

The bus pulled away from the curb and Sam looked away. He felt bad about what he had just seen and ignored, for not getting off of the bus and going to them, but there was something he needed that was more important than reassuring them.

Jessica could be waiting for him at the end of this journey, he had to know. He would deal with his family later.

* * *

Mary held the phone between them, feeling the tension radiating from Dean, and she willed Sam to answer. She needed to speak to him, but Dean needed it more, and she needed it for him. If they didn't find Sam, he was never going to forgive her. He probably wouldn't forgive her for the deal anyway, but the fact she had driven Sam away would be worse to him.

The call connected, and Mary's heart skipped with relief, but it wasn't her son's voice she heard, it was Clark's. _"Did I forget to tell you Sam left his phone in my truck?"_ he asked cheerfully. _"My bad."_

Dean's mouth dropped open and he seemed to be struggling for a strong enough word to describe his feelings.

"Why?" Mary asked weakly.

_"I'm doing what Sam needs me to do. He left his phone for a reason. He took off for a reason. This is not my fault, though I can see how it would help you to think it was. Makes it easier to handle the guilt, right, Mary?" _

"Screw you!" Dean growled.

Clark chuckled. "You two need to concentrate on what matters."

"We are," Mary said. "Sam is our family. We love him."

"Then give him what he needs like I am. He doesn't want to be with any of us. He would have asked us to come along if he did, Dean, and he wouldn't have run if he wanted to be around you, Mary."

Mary closed her eyes. "I can't do that." She couldn't respect his wishes in this. This wasn't like when he was away from them at college. He was in danger now. The Demon might come for him.

_"Then I guess you've got a problem since he's not going to be found. He's smart enough to evade you. Take my advice, let him go his own way and come back to you when he's ready."_

Dean cursed and walked away as Clark ended the call. Mary hurried to catch up with him, and they stepped into the cold night air together. Mary ended the call and tucked the phone away as a bus in front of her pulled away from the curb. Mary looked at the dark windows, wondering if Sam was behind them, watching them and knowing they were trying to find him?

She didn't believe that. No matter how angry Sam was at her, he still loved his brother and wouldn't leave him to hurt like this. Maybe he wouldn't mind hurting her, she'd hurt him after all, but he wouldn't do that to Dean. He had to be long gone already.

The fact she couldn't be sure of how Sam felt about her made her feel like her stomach had been filled with lead. She had never doubted his love for her in his life. He had always been _her_ Sam the way Dean was _her_ Dean. She didn't know where she fit with either of them anymore.

Dean was so angry with her, even more since Sam had gone, and she had done that. She'd ruined everything. Part of her wished she'd never told them the about her deal, but she knew it was wrong. They deserved the truth at last. She had held the secret for so long, and it had been time to tell them. Long past time in fact. They should have known for a long time, but she had been scared. Now she feared she had found the courage too late for things to even head between them.

"We should go home," she said. "Pack up our stuff and go."

"What if he comes back to the motel and we're gone?" Dean asked.

Mary smiled sadly. "He's not coming back, Dean." She had made sure of that.

"Then why would we go home? Why would he go there?"

"Because it's home. He might just need some time to process what's he's heard. Bobby could help him."

Dean looked annoyed. "Why would he go to Bobby and not me?"

"I don't know. I just hope he has. If he's not gone there, I don't know where to look next."

Dean glared at her and walked away to where they'd left the Jeep in a no-parking zone. Mary watched him go for a moment, trying to brace herself to follow, and then she walked after him.

* * *

It was only a short drive back to the motel, and it was spent in silence with Mary gripping the wheel tightly and Dean's hands fisting and relaxing in his lap.

Mary was glad when they turned into the parking lot, thinking that she would at least have some space while she was packing her room to let herself break, but her relief was quickly banished when she saw Clark standing outside her room, leaning against the wall and looking perfectly relaxed.

Dean threw himself out of the Jeep and marched towards him, his face thunderous.

Clark held out Sam's phone and said, "I thought you'd want this. Figured you'd have a few calls to make.

Mary's stomach jolted. She hadn't even thought of him, but there was one person that had a real chance of finding Sam for them: Ash. If he could track demons, he could surely track one man that would be leaving a trail of credit card transactions.

She took out her phone and dialled The Roadhouse. Though it was late, Bill answered quickly, and she still heard voices in the background of the call.

_"Roadhouse,"_ he said cheerfully.

"Bill, it's Mary. I need to speak to Ash."

Bill's voice became solemn._ "Is everything okay?"_

"No," she replied honestly. "I really need Ash."

_"Hold on." _

There was the muffled sound of Bill calling Ash's name and explaining and then Ash's voice drawled, _"Hey, Mary. How's that program working out?"_

"It's fine," Mary said. "This is about Sam. I need to find him. He's… missing. He'll be using his credit card and bank, though, so I need you to trace it for me. He's with the Bank of America."

_"He's missing?"_ Ash sounded worried and Mary thought perhaps she should have told him the truth that Sam had taken off on his own. She couldn't bear for someone else to know she'd driven her son away though.

"He's okay. He's just taking a trip, and I'm a little worried," she lied.

_"Ah, sure, okay. Yeah, send me whatever details you have about his accounts and I'll see what I can do."_

"Thank you, Ash," she said.

_"No problem. Am I right in thinking you want this to avoid other ears?"_

She forgot sometimes that Ash wasn't just a layabout genius. He was shrewd, too. She didn't really want Ellen and Bill knowing Sam had left them, as they'd have questions she didn't want to answer. But there was a chance Sam might go to The Roadhouse, so they should know.

"You can tell them," she said. "Just make sure we know if Sam shows up."

_"Got it. I'll be in touch." _

Mary ended the call and said, "Ash is going to find him."

Clark snorted and Dean narrowed his eyes as he said, "Ash is going to _look for_ him, you mean."

"He's the best chance of finding him we have," Mary said.

Dean shrugged. "Sure."

Mary opened her room door and went in to get her journal. All Sam's details were in the back, along with Dean's, and she quickly copied them into a text and sent it to Ash. She got a response after only a moment saying he'd got them, and she set her phone down and sighed as she turned and saw Clark had followed her and Dean in and was leaning against the closed door.

"Do you really think this is going to help?" he asked. "Say you do find him, what are you going to do next? Drag him back? He ran for a reason." He looked pointedly at Dean. "From both of you."

Dean rushed forward and shoved Clark's chest, pushing him into the door. "Shut your mouth!" he shouted.

Clark rolled his shoulders and then pulled back a fist and slammed it into Dean's jaw. Dean reeled back, and Mary shouted in shock.

"Do that again, I won't pull my punch," Clark warned.

Dean shook his head and stepped up to Clark again, looking as though he wanted nothing more than the fight.

Mary ran forward and stepped between them, her hand on each of their chests. She could feel Dean's angry breaths moving his chest and his heart pounding against her hand. For a moment, she thought he was going to shove her aside and continue the fight, but he stepped back and raked a hand over his face, his gentler nature overpowering his urge to vent. He was a good man and the only violence she ever saw from him was towards the monsters they hunted.

"Out of my way," he said harshly. "I'm going to pack my crap and get out of here."

"You can't drive yet," Mary said, stepping aside as Clark pushed away from the door to let him pass. "You've drunk too much. Sleep now and we'll leave in the morning."

Dean's nostrils flared as he breathed heavily, and then he nodded. "Be ready early or follow when you want. I'm going as soon as I can."

"I'll be ready," Mary said.

Dean walked out of the door and slammed it closed behind him, making an angry voice shout from the next room, telling them to keep the noise down.

Clark watched her for a moment, an eyebrow raised, and then he asked, "Why did you do it, Mary?"

She was sure she knew what he meant, and she answered honestly. "Because the man I loved was dead and I was all alone. I thought it was worth it to have him back."

"That's not what I meant, why did you tell them? You must have known it was going to screw them up. Why didn't you say something else? Why do that to Sam?"

Mary sighed. "I couldn't lie anymore. It was going to come out anyway, Missouri told me. I thought I had to be the one to tell them when they already knew so much."

Clark nodded slowly. "So you cleared your conscience at the cost of their peace."

"I didn't want to hurt them, but it was a matter of time before they knew anyway. I didn't think their reactions would be that bad."

Clark surveyed her for a moment. "I guess it doesn't matter anymore. They know. You might want to brace yourself though. Dean is pissed, he's not hiding that, but Sam is a real mess. I can feel people as well as read them, and he was all kinds of twisted. I couldn't make sense of what I was feeling."

"You feel him? He's actually feeling again?" Mary felt a wave of relief. Perhaps it was selfish, but the fact she'd made Sam shut down was awful, and if that had ended and he was connected fully again, it had to be a good thing, even if he was hurting.

"He's definitely feeling," Clark said. "I'm empathetic. I can feel your sadness and regret, and Dean's worry and anger, but Sam was throwing out all kinds of conflicting emotions. He was in shock and upset, but he was also hopeful and excited."

"Excited about what?" Mary asked, confusion furrowing her brow.

"No idea. It confused me, too. That's what's worrying me. Sam is a pretty clear guy emotionally, even with the negatives, but he was weird when I last saw him. If you do track him down, I don't know what you're going to find." He narrowed his eyes and then walked to the door and opened it. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"We're leaving tomorrow," Mary said.

Clark smiled slightly. "I know. But you're going to want to talk to me first, I promise."

He left the room and clicked the door closed behind him quietly.

Mary sank down onto the end of the bed and buried her face in her hands. She knew she should be packing or trying to sleep so she could safely make the journey home the next day, but she didn't feel like she could move. The day had started well, and there been revelations from Sam about his powers, but it was ending as a nightmare. Sam was gone, Dean hated her, Clark was aggravating, and apparently, she still wasn't done with him. Whatever he thought she would need from him the next day, she thought she was going to have to take it. He knew more than they did, that was obvious, and though she didn't feel like she could trust him to help them after he helped Sam leave, she thought she could trust him to help Sam, and that mattered to her and Dean more than anything now.

Confused and overwhelmed, she buried her face in her hands and began to cry, finally allowing herself the time to release some of the raw emotions she had trapped inside her.

* * *

**So… Sam is on his way, Mary and Dean are at a loss, and Clark is being cryptic. I always love when he has the upper hand as he enjoys it so much. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading. You ladies are awesome xxx**

* * *

_**Chapter Three**_

Sam got off the bus in Topeka and went straight to the desk to buy a ticket to California and check his bag. The weary looking clerk, a matronly woman in a uniform that was straining over her chest, said the next bus that he could connect to Sacramento left at noon, so he got himself a bottle of water from a vending machine and made himself comfortable in the quiet waiting room, his laptop bag tucked behind his legs under the chair.

He was tired now, and his head was still aching from the vision and use of astral projection, but it was manageable. Missouri said it was painful to use his powers because he was fighting it, and Clark said it wasn't grief that fought them, but Sam thought he might be wrong now. He wasn't suffering as much as he should be after using four powers in one night especially the strain of using telekinesis to stop himself being impaled on the pipe. Perhaps it really had been grief and now he was filled with hope, he wasn't fighting so hard.

Or perhaps he was just not feeling the pain as strongly as there was something amazing waiting for him at the end of this journey that overpowered the pain.

With everything that had happened and how wired he was, he thought he would never sleep, but he did. He wasn't aware of drifting off, but one moment he was listening to the movements and voices around him, and the next he was standing the in cemetery again.

At first, he wasn't sure if it was just a dream or not, but the way the moon lit the marble gravestone in front of him and the cold air on his face made him sure it was a vision. Unlike before, he wasn't waiting for a threat or trouble; he was eagerly awaiting her, hoping this was the vision of what awaited him when he got there.

The vision of himself stood perfectly still, looking at the grave, his eyes tracing the words written on the headstone, but the Sam that was just a witness was searching the cemetery for a sign of her. His heart leapt when he saw her coming through the gates of the cemetery. She was still wearing the same clothes of his dream and vision, and her eyes were sad again. She walked towards Sam and came to a stop at his side. His eyes widened and he turned slowly to look at her, his face transforming into something that looked like fear.

"Hey, baby," she said.

"Jessica?"

She smiled. "I'm here."

Sam reached for her and then pulled his hand back. She stared into his face and then slowly moved her hand towards his.

Sam's heart raced as he watched, waiting to see what would happen, but at that moment a voice broke over him and tore him from the dream. _"The eight-forty-five to Dallas is now boarding."_

Sam's eyes flew open and he looked around the waiting room, seeing people gathering belongings and making their way outside. He felt a surge of anger toward the announcer. He had been with Jessica, watching what was hopefully to come for him, and it had been torn away from him.

He wiped a hand over his face, feeling the lines in his brow, and drew a deep breath. He needed to move. He wouldn't be able to sleep again, even if he could have slipped back into the vision, and there was something he needed to do while he was in the city to stop himself being followed.

He got to his feet and slung his duffel over his shoulder then went into the restroom to use the toilet and clean up. He didn't have soap or a razor to clean up properly, but he'd had the foresight to put his toothbrush in his bag. He cleaned his teeth and splashed his face with water before leaving the bathroom and going to the information desk.

There was a man sitting behind the counter, that smiled at him as he approached and said, "How may I help you?"

"Is there a Bank of America close?" Sam asked.

The man nodded eagerly. "Yes, just down the street, but we have an ATM here if you need to withdraw cash."

"No, I need the actual bank," Sam said. "Which direction is it in?"

"Take a right out of the station and then left. It's just a couple hundred yards away."

Sam thanked him followed his directions out of the station to the bank. A neat sign on the wall said it opened at nine, so Sam crossed the street and brought a bottle of juice and protein bar from a small convenience store before going back to wait.

There was a woman with a stroller and older child hanging off her arm also waiting, and Sam exchanged a smile with her, thinking she looked stressed and tired for so early in the day, before averting his eyes and thinking about what he was doing.

More than watching them from the bus had, this felt like a clear line to cross in him leaving his family. By closing the account as he planned to, he was shutting down their chance of finding him. He was really leaving, and they wouldn't be able to follow. He didn't question his choice, but he knew he was condemning them to worry for however long he was gone. He didn't want them following and interfering though. As much as he loved them, he needed to do this alone. He didn't know what he was going to find in Sacramento, but he didn't want them there for it. They wouldn't understand.

The doors were unlocked, and Sam followed the woman with her stroller inside. She went straight to the desk and rooted in her purse for something, and Sam went to the next free teller.

"I need to close my account," he said.

The young woman frowned. "Is there a problem with your account, sir?"

"No, I just need to close it," Sam said.

"I'll get a personal banker for you." She picked up a phone and spoke softly into it before saying, "Someone will be right out."

Sam thanked her and walked away from the counter. A door opened and a man came out wearing a dark suit and a confused expression. He spoke to the woman that had served Sam and she pointed him out.

The man came to Sam and held out a hand, "Mark Peterson, personal banker. I hear you want to close your account?"

Sam shook his hand and said, "Sam Winchester. And yes."

"Come with me." He led Sam over a small room with frosted glass walls and gestured him in. There was a desk and computer inside, and he sat and waited for Sam to settle in the opposite chair. "Have you had a problem banking with us?"

"No, I just need to close my account," Sam said, his tone not inviting further questions. He handed over his debit card and ID, and the man slid it across the desk and began tapping on the keyboard. "I'm just checking if you have any pending transactions or monthly fees to clear," he said.

"I don't," Sam said, everything that went directly out of his account, his rent and utilities, had been canceled after the fire.

He looked up from the computer and said, "You're right. Then it is a simple process to close it."

Sam waited impatiently as he ran through the conditions of closing and explaining the benefits of keeping the account open with a small balance, but Sam shook his head and stated, "I'm closing it."

"Very well, sir." He wrote on a form and then signed it with flourish. "Sign here," he instructed, sliding the paper over the desk.

Sam took it and signed his name then handed it back.

The banker checked it and then handed Sam another sheet of paper. "If you take this to a teller, they will withdraw the remaining balance."

"Thanks," Sam said, taking the form and leaving the room. He queued for a teller again, and then went through the process of requesting the balance in cash instead of as a cashier's check.

When the money had been handed over in an envelope, Sam tucked it in his bag and hurried out of the bank. He still had over two hours to kill before he needed to be at the station again, so left the bank and looked up and down the street for somewhere to get breakfast. There was a McDonalds a little further along the street, and Sam headed there with a grimace. He didn't usually like fast food, but it was cheap and he needed to be careful with money.

He went inside and ordered a sausage biscuit and coffee which he took to a table and sat down to eat. As he chewed the unappetizing food, he thought about what else he needed to do.

He didn't know what was waiting for him in California. If he was right about Jessica—and he hoped desperately he was—he was going to be staying. That was an easy choice for him to make, he wanted to be close to her, but it meant leaving his family behind. He couldn't tell them about Jessica, but he couldn't leave them with nothing either. Dean and Bobby at least deserved better. He didn't want to think too long on what Mary deserved. He didn't want to think about what she'd done, but his thoughts settled there anyway. She had invited that demon into their home, and it had done something to Sam. If she hadn't made the deal, he would never have been born at all, he knew that, and neither would Dean. He loved his brother and thought of a world without him in it was wrong, so he couldn't blame Mary for making a deal, but he could blame her for lying about it. She had more chances in the past two months than she could have needed to tell the truth, but she hadn't. She'd made it worse even. She had told him to his face that she was hiding nothing, that what Sam had seen in her aura was immaturity.

He didn't know if he could forgive her for that, but it didn't feel like it mattered in that moment. Jessica overpowered almost everything else. The only part that still reached him through his distraction was Dean. He would be worried, and Sam owed him better than to just take off. He couldn't tell him where he was or what he was doing, but he could reassure him with a phone call.

Satisfied by his plan of action, he took another bite of breakfast and nodded. He would call Dean, let him know he was okay, and then he would continue his journey to Jessica.

* * *

Dean zipped his wash kit closed and stuffed it in his duffel then looked around the room for anything he might have missed. The only thing out of place was the half-full cup of coffee, and he drained it before shouldering his bag and carrying it out to the car. As he closed the door behind him, he cursed, seeing Clark leaning against the wall of Mary's room.

Dean's feelings for Clark had grown into something close to absolute loathing, and he didn't want to have to speak to him again. His jaw still hurt from Clark's punch, and it had blossomed into a deep bruise. It was made worse by the fact Dean hadn't managed to injure him in return. He had wanted to, but Mary's presence had stopped him. As angry as he was, he didn't want her to see him losing control. And if the fight had started properly, it would not have stopped until one of them was a bloody mess. It would probably have been him. For someone that seemed to take such terrible care of his body, Clark could pack a punch, and that was before you took into account that he could literally put Dean on his ass with the power of his mind.

"Saw you were getting ready to go, so I thought we'd have a chat first," Clark said.

Ignoring him completely, Dean opened the trunk and stowed his bag. He stared down at it, knowing he needed to at least tell Mary he was ready to leave, even if she wasn't, but feeling unwilling to do it, when a distraction came in the form of his phone ringing. He pulled it out and saw it was coming from a blocked number.

For a moment he puzzled over it, and then an idea made his stomach swoop and he answered it, "Sammy?"

There was a heavy sigh. _"Yeah, it's me."_

Dean felt a wave of relief. He didn't fully realize how worried he had been until he heard his brother's voice.

"Are you okay?" he asked urgently.

"_I'm fine. How are you doing?"_

"I have no idea," Dean answered honestly. "This is such a damn mess. I don't know what I feel even."

"_I know what you mean." _

"Where are you?"

"_I can't tell you,"_ Sam said heavily. _"I'm sorry."_

"You can't even tell _me_?" Dean was stunned. He thought Sam would have been open with him, that he could trust him not to tell Mary. "Please, Sammy. I won't tell her. No one else has to know at all. I'll come to you on my own."

"_No," _Sam said firmly. _"I need to be alone for this."_

"But it's not safe for you to be alone. You've got The Demon on your tail."

"_I'll be okay. I can protect myself. Clark gave me some stuff."_

Dean glared at the man watching him. "_Clark_ gave you stuff?" Clark grinned and nodded before Dean went on. "That's good, but you'd be safer if we were together. Please, Sammy, I swear I won't tell anyone else where you are or what you're doing."

"_I can't,"_ Sam said again, sounding genuinely remorseful. _"I'm sorry."_

"Okay," Dean said heavily. "You need space, I get that, but when are you coming back?"

"_I don't know yet."_

"You _are _coming back though, right?" Dean asked, an iron fist of fear gripping his heart.

"_I don't know, Dean," _Sam said. _"I don't know anything right now. I'll call again though." _

"No! Don't go yet," Dean said desperately. "You've got to talk to me, man. Just tell me what you're doing."

Mary came out of her room, her brows furrowed and then rising as she heard Dean say his brother's name again as the silence stretched.

"Sam!" she gasped. "Let me talk to him." She reached for the phone as if she was going to snatch it out of his hand, and Dean stepped back and glared at her.

"No, Mom," he said angrily.

There was a sharp indrawn breath on the line and Sam said, _"I've got to go. Take care of yourself."_

"No!" Dean said. "Wait!"

It was too late, Sam had already hung up.

Dean lowered the phone and glared at his mother who was looking at him imploringly.

"Thanks for that, Mom," he growled. "He was talking until you came."

"Technically, he was already going," Clark said cheerfully. "She just hurried the process."

Mary ignored him and said, "Where is he? What did he say?"

"I don't know where he is. I don't know what he's doing. He said he's okay, but he wouldn't tell me anything else." He narrowed his eyes. "And you trying to grab the phone made him hang up."

"Or not," Clark said pointedly as Mary apologized.

"He really didn't say anything else?" she asked, her eyes wide with need.

"Nothing," Dean said.

"Not actually true," Clark said. "He also said he didn't want you with him, didn't he? I could guess that much from what you said."

"You were going to leave?" Mary asked, her face stricken.

Clark rolled his eyes. "Of course he was. He's got to help his brother. Him and Sammy are even more tightly bonded with that whole saintly thing than you are."

"Saintly thing?" Mary asked. "What are you talking about?"

"We can talk about that later," Clark said. "There's something more important to discuss before you two take off."

Dean wasn't listening. He was still thinking of their aborted phone call. He thought he could have gotten more out of Sam if he'd had the chance, but Mary had screwed it up. He had no idea where he was now. They didn't even have a number for him that Ash could trace. There was no way of knowing where he was… except…

"Clark!" he said suddenly, breaking into their discussion of what Clark wanted. "You can find him! Project or whatever. Tell us where he is!"

"No," Clark said simply.

"What?"

"I said no."

"Please," Mary begged. "We'll pay you. We just need to know where he is."

Clark shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. "I don't want your money."

"Then what do you want?" Mary asked plaintively.

"You know already," Clark said. "I want the Colt. I want you two to focus on what matters. You're losing it over Sam taking a little space—space he desperately needs after what you did to him—and you're forgetting what matters."

"Sam matters," Dean growled.

"He does," Clark agrees. "He's got a demon on his tail and you've got no weapon." He addressed Mary, seeming to know she was a better target for his harsh words. "Sam doesn't want you two right now. He wants to be alone. Respect that and do what you can for him in other ways. Find the Colt, protect him from what's coming. Focus on saving his life instead of just tying him to your side so you can feel less like a failure."

Dean's hands fisted. As much as he hated what Mary had done, he wasn't going to let Clark speak to her like that. "Shut your mouth!"

Clark ignored him and looked at Mary. "Commit to doing that, and I'll help you."

Mary bit her lip. "You'll look for Sam?"

"Yes."

Mary closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. "Okay. We'll do what we can to find the Colt."

"And to protect Sam?" Clark asked. "Whatever it takes?"

"Yes," Mary said.

"Hold on," Dean said. "Wait. What do you care about protecting Sam? You just want the Colt so you can have your revenge."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Think what you want. I want a deal. I will look for your brother if you will do what I say."

"We will," Mary said. "Won't we, Dean?"

Dean was torn. He didn't want to make any deal with Clark, he didn't trust him, but he also needed to know where Sam was. If Clark was going to help them find and protect him, it had to be a good thing.

"Yeah," he sighed. "We'll do what you say."

Clark nodded and then closed his eyes. He became still, his chest hardly moving, and then he opened his eyes and said, "He's in a bus station. I can't tell you where, but he's okay."

"That's it?" Dean asked, his temper flaring. "You can't even see the where it is?"

"It's too generic. It could be anywhere," Clark said, and Dean was sure he was lying. "I looked, and now you owe me." He pushed away from the wall and took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one, drew on it, and then said, "You're going to quit wringing your hands over Sam and work the problem instead. I am going to do more than just look for Sam, I am going to help you protect him."

"Why would you help?" Dean asked. "All you care about is your girlfriend."

Clark drew on his cigarette and said, "Do I? Or do I care about Sam, too?"

"No," Dean said confidently.

Clark shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me what you believe. I am doing it either way. I will help you find out what that demon wants from Sam, so you can actually do something about it, and you will find the Colt. You've already made the deal, so there's no way you're wriggling out of it now. I did what you wanted, so you will do what I want."

"But you _will _keep looking for Sam?" Mary asked.

"I will," Clark said. "But you both need to know that's not what he needs. Sam needs to make his own choices. He has been thrown into this psychic thing, he lost the woman he loves, now there's a demon coming for him. What he needs, more than love and hugs from you two, is a weapon. The Colt is going to be one weapon. Knowledge will be the other. Until you know what The Demon wants, you won't know what you're protecting him from."

Mary looked at Dean, her eyes seeming to be searching him for something. Dean knew Clark was right, and he hated it. His heart told him he needed to find Sam, to be with him to protect him, but if The Demon came, he would just be lining up to be killed. Until they had a weapon, they were all useless, and apparently the other weapon was going to be knowledge. It even made sense. They did need to know.

"Fine," he snapped. "You're right. We'll do what we need to do. But you have to keep an eye on him and tell us what's happening. You're the only way we can know he's safe."

"I'm aware," Clark said, and there was no humor in his tone now.

If Dean didn't know better, he'd believe that Clark really did care about more than getting the Colt.

Clark threw his cigarette onto the ground and stamped it out. "We need somewhere private to work. Where do you have?"

"We'll go home," Mary said. "Sioux Falls."

Clark rubbed his hands together. "Okay then. Let's go."

* * *

**So… Clark has a plan. I was excited for this part of the story for a couple reasons, but having Clark working with Mary and Dean and the way that would develop was definitely a big enticement. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading. You ladies made this all so much easier xxx**

* * *

**_Chapter Four_**

Mary was standing at the counter, wiping around a pan with a cloth. It was dry already, it had been dry for at least two minutes, but when she stopped, the dishes would be done and she would have to turn away from the window and face the gaze of the two men behind her. She wasn't ready to do that.

When they had gotten home, Bobby had wanted to know what was going on. Dean had given her a pointed look and announced that he was going to work on the Shelby, leaving her to Bobby's intense curiosity alone.

She had told him everything, baring the facts and telling him the consequence of her admission—Sam leaving them all—and he had listened in silence. When she'd finished and held her breath, waiting for the hammer to fall, he had merely cleared his throat and said, "That's quite the mess you've made. I'll try calling Sam again later. I'm making spaghetti for lunch."

She realized after that she should have expected the calm response, but at the time she'd been caught off guard. Bobby wasn't the type to show his anger though. He felt things deeply and privately until he was ready to share it. One day, probably when she least expected it, the fallout would come, but for now he was processing it and dealing with the immediate needs which, right now, meant calming Dean down by talking about Sam's call while they waited for Clark to arrive.

He had driven as far as Bobby's street with them and then he'd gone on into town to book a room at the Red Rock Inn. He said he would be back soon, but it had been two hours, and Mary was starting to wonder what his idea of 'soon' was. She wanted to be doing something to distract herself. More, she wanted to be helping Sam. If she couldn't be with him, she could be protecting him from a distance.

"You going to put that pan away anytime soon and talk to us, Mary?" Bobby asked gruffly.

Mary closed her eyes for a moment, preparing herself for Dean's accusing glare, and then stowed the pan in the cupboard and turned to face them. "Sorry, I zoned out," she said.

Bobby nodded but Dean's lips pressed into a thin line. She thought he had taken her words at face value, as if she had been daydreaming about something light instead of the torment she had been feeling.

"You think he'll be much longer?" Bobby asked

Mary shrugged. "I have no idea. Clark's… different."

"He's an asshole," Dean growled.

"He's difficult," Mary said, using Missouri's word to describe the talented man.

Dean huffed and turned away from her as if not willing to even look at her now. She supposed her words could have been construed as a correction of what he'd said. She'd messed up again.

She didn't like Clark. She accepted that he had helped Sam, and she believed he cared in some way about what happened to him, but the way he needled Dean, intentionally aggravating him, made it hard for her to see his positives. She had to put that aside now to get the help he offered, though. She wasn't sure Dean was going to be able to do the same.

Bobby looked from Mary to Dean and said, "And he's pretty gifted?"

"Very," Mary said. "He can astral project and is telekinetic and psychokinetic. He's an empath, too, which I didn't know before. He was able to get a read on Sam before he dropped him off."

Dean looked around, his eyebrows high. "He did? What did he say?"

Mary cursed internally as she realized it was something else she should have told Dean. "He said it was confused. He was in shock and upset, but he was also hopeful and excited."

"He's feeling _something_," Dean said with obvious relief.

"Excited and hopeful though?" Bobby said, a deep frown marring his brow. "What the hell is that about?"

"I have no idea," Mary said. "Clark didn't know either."

Dean looked down at his hands on the table top. "Maybe he was just excited to get away from us."

"From _me_," Mary corrected. "You've done nothing wrong, Dean."

Before Dean could reply, Bobby said, "It wasn't about getting away from you, and you should both know that already. I think that Clark character got it wrong. He said it was confused. He obviously got a bad read off of him. He might be the gifted one, but we know Sam. He wouldn't take off feeling good about it, no matter what happened."

Mary felt reassured by what he said. She didn't want to think of Sam being excited to leave her behind. And it didn't sound like the son she knew and loved to be feeling that either. Clark must have gotten it wrong.

She heard an engine and a thudding bass approaching, and she looked to the window to see Clark's black truck pulling up behind her Jeep. The music cut off and she said, "He's here," unnecessarily as they were both looking to the door already.

She put the cloth down and went to open the door to Clark who was walking up the steps and smiling widely.

"Mary," he said cheerfully. "Nice place. I know where to come if I need parts in future."

Mary didn't answer, but she stepped back to let him in. He passed her into the kitchen and looked from Dean who was scowling to Bobby who had gotten to his feet. For a moment, no one spoke as Bobby and Clark appraised each other. Mary wondered which incarnation of Clark was going to come to the fore. The aggravating man that enjoyed screwing with Dean, or the calmer man he seemed to save for Sam that had forged some kind of bond between them.

It turned out that it was neither version of himself. He sounded almost friendly as he held out a hand to Bobby and said, "Clark Brennan."

"Bobby Singer." They shook hands and Bobby held on to Clark a moment too long, looking into his eyes. "I hear you're going to be helping us."

"I am," Clark said. "I'm already helping you. I checked in on Sam before I came over. He's okay. On a bus now. He was eating a burger and seemed fine."

"Sam was eating a _burger_?" Dean asked disbelievingly.

Clark raised an eyebrow. "That's what I said."

Dean shook his head. "That's not Sam."

"It's just road food," Bobby said calmly. "He's limited on options. It's not some symptom you need to worry about."

"Yeah, okay," Dean said, but Mary could tell he wasn't comforted.

"So," Bobby said, looking at Clark. "How exactly are you going to be helping us?"

Instead of answering, Clark walked around Bobby and sat down at the table opposite Dean. "Can I get a beer?" he asked.

Mary fetched him one from the fridge and then set one down in front of Dean as Bobby took a seat. Clark twisted off the cap and took a draw, but Dean pushed his aside and said, "Bobby asked you a question."

Clark set the bottle down and gave Dean a withering look then said, "The Colt is the most important thing for protecting Sam."

"You want the Colt," Dean said darkly. "Of course you'd say that."

"Do you have another way to kill a demon?" Clark asked, his jaw tightening. "No? I didn't think so. The Colt _is_ the most important thing but knowing what the demon wants and when it's coming would be helpful, too. We still don't know why it came into your home in the first place."

"It came for Sam," Dean said

Mary sat down between Clark and Dean and reached to touch his hand where it lay on the table top. Before she could make contact, Dean pulled his hands down onto his lap. She felt the refusal like a slap.

"Why though?" Clark asked. "We've been over this before. What did it want from a six-month-old baby? He was already psychic, sure, but what makes him different from the dozens of other psychics in the country?"

"He's powerful," Bobby said. "Missouri said he's going to exceed what she can do. He's young and fit. He's even hunted before. He'd be better than anyone out there."

Clark looked thoughtful. "Yeah, that explains why it came _back_, but it doesn't explain what it wanted from him when he was a baby."

"Sam thinks the demon did something to him," Mary said, feeling Bobby's and Dean's eyes on her. "Do you?"

Clark shrugged. "I don't know what it could have done. There's something in Sam's blood that fights his power. I saw that when I was training him, but I can't see how the demon could have done that to him. That's what we need to find out. We need to go to the root of it."

"The Demon?" Mary asked, her hand coming to her mouth as her heart quickened in her chest. "He's the root of it all. We'd be offering ourselves up to be killed going to him." Dean would be killed. He had nothing The Demon wanted the way Sam did. She couldn't lose her son.

"Take a breath, Mary," Clark said calmly. "I'm not talking about _The _Demon, though that one is a big part of it. We need to go lower down the food chain. A foot solider. There's more we need to know about your demon than what it wants from Sam. We need to know what the hell it is, too. You said it had yellow eyes. I've never heard of one that didn't have black or red eyes. Yours has got to be high up the chain, maybe the top of the chain."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked.

Clark considered a moment. "I didn't even know there was a chain until I heard about Yellow-Eyes. I guess crossroads demons are tougher to break than a black-eyed ones, but that was as far as it went."

"When you say break…" Bobby trailed off.

Clark grinned. "I mean _break_. You can't make a demon talk by asking nicely. You've got to get creative."

"You want us to torture someone?" Dean asked, his growl of a voice not hiding the horror in his eyes.

"A demon," Clark said reasonably. "It's different."

"What about the person being used as a meatsuit?" Bobby asked, the shadow in his eyes telling Mary he was thinking of Karen. "You have to do a lot of damage to them if you're going to get to the demons."

"They make it sometimes," Clark said calmly.

"No!" Dean said, his horror open to them all now in his voice. "We save people. We don't torture and kill them."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Of course. I forgot you don't actually give a crap about your brother."

Dean started to get to his feet, his face thunderous, but Bobby grabbed his arm and held him in place. "Sit down, Dean," he said firmly. "Clark, as much as we want your help, you're not welcome here if you're going to talk like that."

Clark raised an amused eyebrow. "Sorry, Singer, I'll be good."

Dean lowered himself into his chair again and said in a tone of forced calm, "We're not torturing people."

Clark sighed. "If you're going to be precious about this, it's not going to work. You can hurt a demon without hurting a person if you use salt and holy water, but you've got to accept that meatsuits die. I've never killed a person, but I have caused a lot of death."

"Is there a difference?" Bobby asked.

"Yes," Clark said. "I get demons out of people. Most of the time they don't make it once the demon is gone. I'm not innocent. I've gotten carried away and I paid for it, but I'm not a murderer." He narrowed his eyes and stared at Bobby. Mary thought he was looking deep into him, perhaps searching his aura or testing his emotions. "Can you say the same?" he asked.

"No," Bobby said brutally.

Clark looked surprised and then he nodded. "So, are we doing this?"

"Yes," Mary said, her decision made. They would do what they could to protect the people used as meatsuits, but they would hurt the demons. This was what her son needed her to do.

Dean gaped. "What?"

"I don't see we've got a choice, Dean," Bobby said. "If we can give the people the best chance at surviving by sticking with holy water and salt… It's the only chance we've got at finding out what the demon wants."

Dean's hands fisted on the tabletop. "We _are_ going to be ending lives doing this."

"Think of them as mercy killings," Clark said. "Sure, they're dying, but you're giving them something better."

"Heaven?" Dean said scathingly. "You don't know that. You said that already."

"No one knows for sure until they actually die," Clark pointed out.

"Exactly," Dean said.

Clark sighed. "We're putting them out of their misery at least." He turned away from Dean and said. "It doesn't have to be unanimous. If any of you are on board, we're doing it. I will get the information we need from the demons and you will concentrate of finding the Colt. You've got more of those books to search now, so get to it."

Mary nodded. "Okay. Dean and Bobby can do that."

Clark's lips quirked into a smile. "You're going to be helping me, are you? I got you all wrong, Mary. I thought you were as saintly as your sons."

Mary's hands tightened into fists. "I am _not _saintly, but I am not cruel. I will do this to save people I love from having to do this, to protect someone I love. You and I will deal with the demons."

Clark grinned. "Sure. Works for me. But we've got to find a demon first. I need time to track the signs. Once I know the where, I can find the who. I can sniff them out."

"We've got a program," Mary said. "It tracks demon signs."

Clark's eyes widened. "You can use a computer to find demons? How?"

Mary nodded. "A genius made it for us."

"I want a copy," Clark said seriously.

"When we get what we need, you'll get what you want," Mary said.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, and she didn't have to look at him to know he was pissed, but really, what was the point withholding from Clark when they were relying on him to help them? He could have the program, just like he could have a bullet from the Colt, if that meant they could protect Sam.

Mary tried to find words to explain that to Dean, but before she could, her phone rang. She checked the caller ID and then quickly connected the call and brought it to her ear, her voice tight she said, "What did you find, Ash?"

_"Nothing good, I'm afraid. I finally got through the Bank of America security and found a card transaction in Lawrence at the Greyhound Station, but after our luck runs out. Sam bought another bus ticket and then closed his account in a Topeka branch. I don't know where the ticket was for, but it wasn't cheap, so he's not staying in the area."_

"Topeka," Mary whispered.

"He's in Topeka?" Dean asked, jumping to his feet.

Mary shook her head. "He was. He bought a bus ticket and then closed down his account." She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut as the pressure of stress made her head pound, and then she said, "Okay, Ash. Thanks for looking for us. He's still got a credit card, so can you keep an eye on that for us."

_"Sure thing, but, Mary, the balance he closed his account with is going to keep him going awhile wherever he is. I don't think he's going to need to break out the credit card for a while."_

"I know," she sighed. "Just keep looking."

_"Got it. I'll be in touch."_

The call ended and Mary took a breath before saying. "He could be anywhere. The ticket was expensive, so we've got pretty much the whole country to pick from."

Dean cursed and Bobby sighed. Clark seemed unconcerned as he said, "So, now that's out of the way, can we get to work?"

"Sure," Bobby said tiredly. "I'll get the basement ready for a guest."

"Make the trap a good one," Clark said. "And bust out the rope."

Bobby nodded and disappeared into the hall and then clumped down the steps. Dean glared at Clark who looked amused as he said. "I'll give you two a minute. There's something in my truck I want." He got up and walked out, letting the door swing closed behind him.

Dean started toward the hall, but Mary caught him arm and said, "Dean…" softly.

He yanked his arm free and said, "No!" bitterly. "I've got to help Bobby prepare the torture chamber."

"Stop!" Mary said. "Talk to me."

"I have nothing to say," Dean said curtly.

"Yes, you do," Mary said. "You need to say it for both our sakes. Tell me how you feel."

At first, she thought he was going to walk away anyway, and then his face became thunderous and he spat. "I _feel _like I've been betrayed by one of the people I thought I could trust above all else in the world. You, Sam, Bobby, I believe in you more than I do myself, and you have destroyed that. You lied to me, Mom! And not just once. Again and again in the past two months, ever since the fire, you've lied to us all."

"I know," Mary said quietly.

Dean drew a deep breath that made his nostrils flare and went on in a tirade of anger. "And you made Sam go away. You drove him away. You…" He sucked in a breath. "You made a damn demon deal!"

"I did," Mary said. "But I was right to do it."

Dean's eyes widened. "How can you say that?"

Mary held up her hand. "Let me talk. I was eighteen years old, Dean, and I had just seen the man I love die. My mother was dead and my father had been stabbed in the gut so he had no chance of surviving an exorcism. I was alone. My world was collapsing around me, and I was given a chance to save it. I could have John back. I loved him so much, Dean, I still do, so much that it wasn't a choice to make. It was meeting a need." She stared into his eyes, imploring him to understand. "I don't regret that deal. It gave me ten years with him that I would never have had otherwise. What I regret is not being in the nursery that night. If I had been, John wouldn't have, and I would have died in his place. I got complacent. I put the deal behind me and tried to forget about it. Because I did that, the man I loved died and you boys lost your father. That is what I regret. Not the ten years I had with him."

Dean nodded curtly. "Okay, yeah, I get that. I hate it, but I get it. I can't say I wouldn't have made that deal for you or Sammy, and I can understand you wanting to forget about it, but I can't forget the fact you lied about it."

Mary had no defense for that. She should have told them. Her reasons for not telling them were selfish ones. It was about what she'd wanted and needed.

"I was wrong," she said. "I know that. I was so scared I'd lose you if I told you, and I couldn't bear it."

"We would have understood. I _do_ understand. Hell, we wouldn't have been born if you hadn't done it. And I don't blame you for Dad dying—that was The Demon—but I do blame you for Sam taking off and for the lies."

Mary's eyes burned with tears. "I know," she said, her voice choked. "I know I drove him away. You can't hate me more than I hate myself."

Dean huffed out a harsh breath. "I don't hate you, Mom. I never could. I love you. I am always going to love you, just like Sam loves you."

The tears spilled down Mary's cheeks and she brushed them away. "Do you really think he does?"

Dean nodded seriously. "You're our mom. Love is part of the deal. Sam is hurting and angry, I'm sure, and I think he's scared, too, but he can't hate you either."

Mary reached for him and then dropped her hand as he moved away slightly, as if he wasn't consciously doing it.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I know you are," Dean said. "But you have to swear you're not going to lie again. Not for anything. Not to either of us. It doesn't matter how bad the truth is or how you think we'll react, you have to tell us."

"I promise," she said quickly, the heavy weight on her chest lightening slightly. "No more lies."

"And things have to change," Dean said. "I can't trust you to know what to do now. We were talking about torture in there, and you agreed."

"We've got no choice, Dean. It's the only way to find out what we need to know."

"I know that. If I didn't believe it, I wouldn't be talking right now. I'd be taking off, too. But it's the fact you agreed without asking us. You've always been the boss, and that was fine because I always thought you knew best, but I don't think that anymore. From here on out, for cases and hunts, for Sam and The Demon, we're partners. You don't make decisions without me."

Mary nodded eagerly, feeling no hesitation about making the deal as she knew it was time. Dean didn't need to be monitored or taught anymore. He had proven that. She was the one that needed guidance. "Of course. Partners."

Dean nodded and turned away again, He reached the door into the hall before she called after him, "Dean, can you ever forgive me?"

Dean's eyes became sad. "I don't know. I'm sorry I can't just say yes like I want to, but this is too big to just brush under the carpet. It's cost us too much. Sam's gone because of it, and I can't stop being angry about that. I still can't trust you the way I did before."

"I understand," she said, fighting to keep the tremble of more tears from her voice. "I'm sorry."

Dean sighed. "It's words, Mom. Me and Sam need more than that. You have to show us you're sorry, and you have to show us we can trust you." He looked into her eyes. "And none of us know if Sam is ever coming back to give you a chance to do that."

He walked away and Mary heard the creak of the stairs. She wiped at her wet cheeks and took a breath, trying to master herself. She forced down the tears as the door opened behind her and Clark stomped in saying, "Done with the family moment?"

Without turning to him, she nodded and said, "Yeah. We're done."

The words made her chest tighten. Dean still loved her, he said Sam did, too, but the easy relationship they'd had all the boys' lives was over.

That part really was done.

**So… I feel bad for Mary at this point. Dean's anger was outlined to last longer, but when I start writing him, he rebelled against his plans. He needed things on a more even keel with his mom, so this last scene was born. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading. Thank you all for reading xxx**

* * *

**_Chapter Five_**

It was late afternoon by the time Sam arrived in Sacramento, and he went straight from the bus station to the cemetery in a cab. He knew he should take better care with his money, but he couldn't wait long enough to find a local bus that would take him there. Jessica could be waiting for him. Now he was so close, the need to find her was much stronger.

The cab dropped him off at the cemetery gates and Sam rushed through them and went straight to Jessica's grave. There was a fresh bouquet laid by the stone, and Sam bent to read the card. It bore only three words, _"We love you,"_ but Sam recognized Elizabeth's handwriting. He had seen it many times before in letters. Though they made regular phone calls, and Jessica emailed her father, she and Elizabeth preferred to write letters to each other. They would always be addressed to both Jessica and Sam, and they were full of family news and details of her days. Sam had puzzled over it at first, as the news had also been exchanged on the phone, but he soon grew used to it. It was just their way.

He wasn't alone in the cemetery, there were other people walking among the graves, some delivering flowers and others heading away from them to the parking lot, but Jessica wasn't among them. He didn't expect her to come when there were people there though. She had hidden from her parents.

He eventually left the grave and went to a bench nearby that faced Jessica's grave, and settled in to wait. Though he was cold and exhausted, as he had barely slept on the bus and the air was chilled, he stayed tensed and ready to move at the first sign of the woman he loved. He waited there until twilight came and the groundskeeper herded him out.

Disheartened and tired, he walked the short distance to the motel he remembered was close to the cemetery and checked into a room. It was a cheap place with long-stay units, and Sam was relieved to see a small kitchenette when he let himself into his room. He was going to need to eat, and buying takeout was going to drain his funds. He could buy cheap food from the grocery store on the corner and make it himself.

He took of his coat and dropped it and his duffel onto the bed and sat down, feeling a wave of tiredness sweep over him. He would like to sleep now and go back to the cemetery in the morning, but he needed to clean up and eat first. He knew it was important that he take care of himself, and he could smell the bus on him.

He forced himself to his feet and went into the bathroom to start the shower. While the heat regulated, he used the toilet and then stripped off his clothes and threw them into the sink. He stepped under the hot water, and felt the heat soaking through his skin to his muscles, reviving him to wakefulness. He scrubbed himself clean and shampooed his hair, tugged his fingers through the strands. Dean had been right, it was getting long now and probably did need to be cut. He would not do it yet though. In the dream he had of Jessica his hair had been just as it was now, and he didn't want to do anything that might alter the chance of seeing her. He had never been superstitious before, though Jessica had been, throwing salt over her shoulder when she spilled it, but he was now. Anything that might help him find her again had to be valued. He wanted to weight the odds in his favor.

When he was clean, he stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist and another towel over his shoulders then went into the bedroom to his duffel. He would have liked to dress down in sweats and sleep now, but he hadn't eaten since the morning, and he needed to. He pulled out clean jeans and a hoodie and dried off then towelled his hair.

The cheap phone he had brought from a stop in Utah beeped with low battery, and he plugged it in to charge. He stared at it a moment, knowing he should call Dean and check in, but he didn't have the energy to speak to him. Dean would want to know where he was and when he was coming home, and Sam couldn't answer one question and didn't know the answer to the other. He wasn't sure if he would ever go home at all. If Jessica was here, he would stay with her forever.

He wanted to check on him though, just to make sure he was okay, so he sat down on the bed again and closed his eyes, trying to find calm. Though he wasn't calm, he felt the draw to leave his body and go to Dean at once. He wasn't sure if whatever it was in him that fought had stopped or if he had somehow unblocked himself when fighting the poltergeist in their old house, but each use of his powers since had been easier to deal with and seemed less painful afterwards.

He let himself rise up and fixed Dean's face in his mind. It was different to when Clark had taken him and when he had seen Mary, as the distance this time was vast, but it didn't slow him down. He just flew over a blurred landscape before stopping in Bobby's kitchen.

Dean was sitting at the table with Mary, Bobby and, unexpectedly, Clark. There was a box of pizza open in the middle of the table, and Mary, Bobby and Dean were eating. Clark was just drinking a beer and saying something inaudible. Sam guessed they still had the hex bag close.

He looked from face to face, seeing their strain, and felt a wave of guilt. How much of that was because of him and how much from Mary's lies?

Suddenly, Clark's head snapped up and he said something Sam couldn't hear. Sam watched as wide eyes fell on him and silent words were spoken, and Clark waved them away with a look of annoyance and closed his eyes. His chest became almost perfectly still, and then Sam felt a second presence with him. Clark was standing beside the chair his body sat upon, looking up at Sam.

"Come on down and talk then," he said. "I'm getting a stiff neck looking up at you."

"How?" Sam asked.

"Just want it," Clark said. "The rest will happen naturally."

Sam focused on moving to Clark, and then he found himself standing beside him, behind Mary's chair.

"Hello, Sam," Clark said mildly. "I wondered when you'd show up."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You've been waiting."

"Well, duh. As pissed as you are, you still care, especially about Dean." He squinted at Sam. "What about Mary?"

"I don't know," Sam said honestly.

Jessica had driven out almost every other thought, but when he did think of his mother, he couldn't make sense of what he felt. She had lied to him, invited in the demon that had somehow cursed him—he didn't know what was in him, but he knew in his heart that it came from the demon—and his father had died because of it. He couldn't reconcile that with the mother he loved and had believed her to be.

"No," Clark said thoughtfully. "I don't think you do."

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked.

"Helping," Clark said and when Sam raised an eyebrow, he said, "Don't act all shocked. I have been helping all along. You have three more powers thanks to me."

"I didn't know you'd help my mom and Dean though," Sam said.

Clark shrugged. "I'm invested. And I want that Colt. That's enough to keep me here. Now, what are you doing?"

Sam didn't answer. He couldn't tell Clark about Jessica. He didn't know how he'd feel about a ghost, and he might tell Sam's family. He couldn't trust any of them to let her be.

Clark nodded as if his silence had been an answer and said, "Where are you doing it?"

"Haven't you seen already?" Sam asked.

"Nope," Clark said happily. "I saw you on a in a bus station and on the road, but I haven't checked in since."

"But you'll be able to see?"

Clark considered. "I can if I try hard enough."

"Don't," Sam said. "Please don't. I need space."

Clark smiled slightly. "I'd say you do. Hell, Sam, you've had a bomb dropped on you. Dean is a mess, too. Or he was. I think him and your mom have squared some of it away. They seem to be in a better place than they were. I guess Mother Mary knew the right thing to say." He sighed. "But I have a deal with them. I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on you."

"You can do that without looking at where I am," Sam pointed out.

"I can…" Clark said slowly. "I guess I can weight it a little. I'll come and check in on you, keep my focus on you and not where you are, so I'm technically keeping up my end." He nodded. "I want to make a deal with you in return."

"What?" Sam asked cautiously.

"You have to protect yourself. I want salt lines at windows and doors and lay a devil's trap. You do have a demon coming for you, so you've got to protect yourself. You've got the holy water I gave you, and the rosary, so make more of it and keep it on you."

"Okay," Sam said, relieved that the deal was so easy to accept. "I can do that."

"And stay in touch," Clark said. "Come find me tomorrow. I'll be able to sense you when you're close, and I'll come so we can have a chat. If too long goes past without you coming, I'm going to track your ass down and personally deliver you to your mom again."

Sam felt a twist of fear. He couldn't do that. Not while Jessica was waiting for him. He didn't doubt Clark would do it though. He would happily tie Sam up and put him in his truck and drive him to Sioux Falls if the fancy took him. For all the help he had given Sam, he wouldn't keep a deal if Sam didn't.

"I'll come back," Sam promised.

Clark clapped his hands together. "That's that sorted then." He looked at the tense, and in Bobby's case worried, faces fixed on his body, the words that were being spoken that they couldn't hear, and said, "I better get back. Singer looks like he's about to start shaking me."

Sam smiled. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow."

Clark disappeared from beside his chair and then his body opened its eyes in response to the words rushing at him. Sam watched for a moment and then let himself withdraw too. He came back to himself sitting on his bed, and headache pounding behind his eyes. He rubbed his temple for a moment and then got to his feet and grabbed his coat.

As much as he would have liked to stay and sleep, he needed food, paint, salt. Clark wanted him to lay down protections, and he would.

* * *

Bobby had ordered them pizza for dinner as none of them felt like cooking. He and Clark had spent the day buried in preparing the basement for demons, and Mary and Dean had been sorting and reading Colt's journals. When the interrogations started, Bobby was leaving it to Clark, but he wanted to prepare the place, to make it as safe as possible for when it came. The last thing they needed was a demon on the loose in Bobby's weapons-laden house.

He, Mary and Dean were eating, but Clark was just nursing a beer after he finished his first slice. Bobby had the feeling from what he'd seen and what Mary and Dean told him that Clark mostly existed on whiskey, coffee and cigarettes, though Bobby had outright banned smoking in the kitchen and library. When Clark wanted to smoke, he could go outside and freeze or sit in the basement. Bobby wasn't going to have him stinking up the place or damaging his valuable books with his smoke.

He still couldn't get a handle on how much he liked Clark. He seemed to go out of his way to annoy Dean, and Dean took the bait every time, but when he spoke about Sam, Bobby had the sense that he actually cared.

He didn't have much time to dwell on Clark as his days had been filled with planning and preparations, and thoughts of his family. Sam had taken off on his own and they'd not heard a word from him in two days. Dean was wound tighter than a coiled spring about the whole situation. And Mary… Bobby wasn't sure what to make of her. He'd never seen his old friend like this before.

He was angry at her, just as he knew Dean was, though there was less tension between them now than there had been when they'd arrived, so he thought they'd at least had a moment to talk things out. Bobby hadn't had that conversation with her as he wasn't ready for it. He was pissed that she'd lied to him for so long. He didn't regret her deal at all, even though he knew what it had cost her sons, because it had given him Sam and Dean, and he loved them like they were his own. But he should have been told there might be danger on the horizon.

He could have done more to protect Sam and Dean if he'd known. He would have made sure they were both protected from demons. Sam would have had traps laid down in his apartment, whether he'd wanted them or not, and they would both have had anti-possession charms on them. Though he had to admit the tattoo they'd all gotten was genius, and he was going to get one himself when there was a moment to do it.

Maybe if he'd known, Jessica wouldn't have needed to die. She could have been protected, too. And Sam… Dean said Sam thought there was something wrong with him that the demon had caused, something in his blood. Bobby had no idea what it could be or how it had gotten there, but he didn't want to think about it either.

What he wanted was for things to go back to normal, though that was impossible. Things had changed for their family, things were wrong, and they had to work out a way to live with that. It would be a lot easier to do if Sam was there.

"What do you think, Bobby?" Dean asked, giving him a questioning look.

Bobby shook off his daze and said, "What do I think about what?"

Dean frowned. "The journals. I was saying we should—" He cut off as Clark's head jerked up and he sucked in a breath and murmured Sam's name.

"Sam?" Bobby said, as Mary and Dean asked their own questions, but Clark gave no answer. He took a deep breath and his eyes fell closed. Bobby watched, confused and then worried as Clark's breaths became barely noticeable.

He reached to touch him, but Dean hissed urgently, "No, Bobby!"

"Why not?" Bobby asked.

"You'll make him come back," Mary explained. "He's astral projecting."

Bobby eyed Clark's almost perfectly still body. "It doesn't look healthy. He's hardly breathing."

"It's supposed to look like that," Dean said, watching Clark closely. "We saw Sammy doing it. He looked the same, but he woke up fine. Well, he had a helluva headache, but he was okay."

"I think he's looking for Sam," Mary whispered, anxiety in her voice.

Dean rolled his eyes but didn't speak.

"I think it's more than that, Mary. He said Sam's name and took off pretty damn fast."

"You think Sam's here?" Dean asked hopefully, his eyes scanning the room.

"Maybe," Bobby said, an idea occurring to him. "Sam? If you're listening, son, we could do with a call."

Mary sighed and shook her head. "He can't hear you, Bobby. We still have the hex bag that blocks our voices."

Bobby glowered at her. "Don't you think you should get rid of it? If he's here looking, he should be here listening, too. Maybe he'll get a clue of exactly what's going on here and why we need to talk to him."

"Yes!" she said eagerly. "I will." She made no move to get up and do it though, and Bobby sighed, shaking his head in mild annoyance as he realized she was going to stay there to hear what Clark said when he came back instead of opening them to Sam.

It seemed to take a long time before Clark's eyes opened and he drew a deep breath. He looked from face to face and said. "Good. You didn't miss it."

"Sam was here?" Dean asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"Yeah, we had a talk."

"Where is he?" Mary asked. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know where he is," Clark said. "He didn't tell me, but he seems…" He considered. "He seems like Sam. He's astral projecting, which means he's still training, so that's good, and he's promised to lay down protections."

"Is that it?" Dean asked, his tone harsh.

"What else were you hoping for?" Clark asked. "He's a mess, obviously, but he's better than he was last time I saw him. He just needs time and space."

"Did he say that?" Mary asked quietly.

"He didn't have to. He's coming back to see me tomorrow though, astrally at least, so I can talk to him then. I'll be able to sense when he's close so I'll go see him."

"Can you take us with you?" Dean asked hopefully.

"No," Clark said firmly.

"But you did Sam," Dean said angrily. "Why not us?"

Clark rolled his eyes. "It's not like jumping on a bus and going for a ride. It takes concentration and ability. I was able to take Sammy as he had the ability in there waiting. You can't hitch a ride."

Bobby wasn't sure he believed him, but he had no knowledge of astral projection.

"Can you tell him to call, at least?" he asked.

"I can _ask_," Clark said pointedly. "I can't make him do it though. He has the right to decide, and I don't want to pile on too much pressure. He's talking to one of us right now, so we need to take that for what it is—a damn good thing."

Bobby agreed it was good, but he wished it was him or Dean he was speaking to instead of a stranger, though he supposed Clark wasn't a stranger to him. It sounded like they were friends. He didn't think it would be Mary that Sam would speak to. She was the one Sam needed space and time from.

Clark took a draw from his bottle of beer and then picked up a slice of pizza and took a bite. "Projecting sure gives a man an appetite," he said around a mouthful.

"We wouldn't know," Dean muttered. "We don't get to do it."

"No," Clark said slowly. "You don't." He took another bite of pizza and grinned. "I can though."

Bobby rolled his eyes and picked up his drink. Clark was an asset to what they were doing, and he was their connection with Sam, but Bobby wished he'd cut Dean a break. He was already stressed. He didn't need Clark making it worse.

He would have pointed that out, told Clark to go easy on him, but he thought it would just make things worse. They were all going to have to bite their tongue and deal with it.

They needed him.

* * *

**So… Sam is closer to Jessica and he and Clark made a deal. I like writing their scenes as they dynamic between them is interesting to me. Clark is different with Sam to how he is with others—especially Dean. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading.**

* * *

_**Chapter Six**_

Mary was nervous as they traveled along the streets of Sioux City, following Clark and Dean in the Impala.

Her nerves were born of both the fact they were searching for the demon at the heart of the signs they had found on Ash's program, and the fact Clark has insisted on riding in the Impala with Dean instead of bringing his truck along with them. She could imagine the tense atmosphere in the Impala right now, the way Clark would needle at Dean, and she wished she'd insisted on driving with them to provide a buffer. Bobby had wanted her in the van though, and she'd had a feeling he wanted to have a serious talk with her, so she hadn't refused. She didn't feel that she could refuse him or Dean anything anymore.

They hadn't discussed her deal or lies, though. Bobby had been mostly quiet on the road until they passed into the city limits and then he began to question her about Clark. She had told him all she knew of his story that he'd shared, and now Bobby was frowning at the road as he considered.

"So his girlfriend was possessed and he's been hunting the demon that did it ever since," Bobby said.

"That's what he said. He can sense demons, and says he'll know when he finds the right one."

"Does he realize that's like searching for a needle in a field of haystacks?"

"I think he does, which is why it's taken him so long. He started looking fresh out of law school, and you've seen how old he is now."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. "Must be nice."

Mary raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Nice?"

"Yeah, his girlfriend could still be alive out there if the demon didn't give her up yet."

"I didn't think of that."

"No, and the demon would have needed to be gentle on her, not trash her as they like to do. But there's a chance. Neither of us have got that to hold on to. I guess you have the revenge thing though. If you can find the Colt and Yellow-Eyes, you can kill it. I could have the demon that took Karen in my basement and I'd never know that was the one. I would have liked some revenge." He sighed. "Closure."

"I didn't think of that," Mary said quietly.

"You wouldn't," Bobby stated. "You've had other things on your mind."

Mary sighed, knowing what he was referring to and that she was going to have to face the subject to let him unload. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?" Bobby asked, an innocently confused look on his face.

"About my deal, about my lies."

Bobby's hands tightened on the steering wheel and then he said, sounding almost relieved. "I do, but it's going to have to wait. I think we're here."

Mary looked out of the windshield and saw that the Impala had stopped on the side of the road and Dean and Clark were climbing out. Bobby pulled up behind them, and Mary got out and walked quickly to Dean.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Fine," Dean said dismissively, though his eyes were tight. She thought the ride here had been an ordeal for him, but he wasn't going to admit that in front of Clark.

"You sensing something, Clark?" Bobby asked, coming to stand with them.

"Not yet," Clark said, pointing at a bar a little way along the street. "But this is the kind of place they'd enjoy hanging out when they're not causing death and mayhem. It's easy pickings for them. Shall we?"

Without waiting for an answer, he walked away and pushed open the bar door. Dean and Bobby followed quickly, and Mary took a breath before doing the same.

It was a nicer, more upscale place than she usually frequented with Dean between cases. The bar was polished wood and the glasses lined up on the shelves sparkled in the well-placed lights above them. The music playing was soft and the tables were filled with people in smart clothes and suits that looked like they were having drinks after work. There wasn't a dart board in sight.

Clark went straight to the bar and caught the eye of the pretty woman serving in a white shirt and modest-length black skirt. She came over and asked what they would like.

Clark considered a moment as he eyed the bottles on the back wall and said, "Four beers and four shots of Jose."

She nodded and set down four glasses on the table and ran a bottle over them before retrieving four bottles of beer from a fridge and popping off the tops.

Clark grabbed one of the shots and knocked it back and said, "Pay the lady, Dean."

Dean's eyes narrowed into slits and his hands fisted. Mary thought he might actually throw a punch, so she quickly stepped forward and took a bill from her wallet to pay. "I've got it."

Clark winked at her and she glared back.

"I've got to hit the head," Dean said curtly, walking away from them, his shoulders stiff.

"Do you have to do that?" Mary asked, fixing her eyes on Clark when Dean was gone. "He's already wound tight without you giving him a hard time."

Clark took a draw on his beer then nodded and grinned. "I really do."

"Why?" Bobby asked.

Clark set down his beer and said, "I'm an empath, so I can feel the annoyance from both of you right now, and a healthy dose of concern that I'm guessing is for Dean. I can handle that. Do you know what Dean feels when he's with me?"

"I'm guessing there's a pretty big dose of annoyance from him, too," Bobby said darkly.

Clark snorted. "There's that, and that's easy to brush off, but he also feels loathing. _Real _loathing."

"Maybe if you stopped giving him crap…" Mary started.

Clark shook his head. "No, he's felt it pretty much since he met me. He was wary, trying to be good, for the first minute, if that long, but then he switched to hate, and he's not eased up on that so far. I admit I was giving him a hard time at first because I was trying to figure you all out, see just what I was working with, especially Sam, but Dean made his mind up about me and hasn't changed it since. He hates me and he's jealous of me. I think it's because I'm the one Sam needs, not him, but it's still aggravating as all hell. I am pounded with that whenever I'm near him. It doesn't make for the most comfortable environment for me. So, yeah, I give him a hard time because I want him to feel a little of what I have to feel."

"Doesn't that just make it worse?" Bobby asked. "If he already hates you…"

Clark sighed. "There's no topping what he already feels, so I have my fun." He shrugged. "I never claimed to be a saint."

"You're definitely not that," Mary muttered.

Clark laughed. "Right back at ya, Mother Mary."

"Can you ease off him for a while though?" Bobby asked. "He's under a lot of pressure with Sam taking off and what's happened." He shot Mary a quick look. "And now he's about to face a demon again. You're really not helping."

Clark considered for a moment and then said, "Nope. I can't"

Bobby sighed. "Dean's really going through something, Clark. He and Sam have always been close, and they confided in each other. Sam's not talking to him anymore. He's not talking to any of us. That's hurting Dean."

Clark grinned. "He's talking to _me._"

"I know," Mary said darkly.

Clark shrugged. "You not drinking?"

Mary and Bobby shook their heads and Clark shrugged and knocked back their shots. He frowned for a moment and then knocked back the last one, gasping as shuddering as he set the glass down. Mary wished he'd left one as she thought Dean could probably have done with the drink.

He picked up his beer again and then sighed. "Timing, Sam."

"He's here?" Mary asked.

"Yeah. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Mary asked.

Clark laughed softly. "You might be used to me ducking out to talk to him, but I don't think anyone else is going to miss it if I stop breathing. I'll be in the restroom."

He weaved his way through the tables, passing Dean who was making his way back to them, and then disappeared through a door at the back of the long room.

Dean reached them and looked at the empty glasses on the bar. "You started without me?"

"Clark did," Bobby said. "I'll get you another."

"No, I'm good," he replied, picking up his beer.

"Sam's here," Mary said. "Astrally at least. Clark's gone to talk to him."

Dean looked relieved. "Good. I want to know how he's doing."

"Don't we all?" Bobby said dourly.

Mary thought it was as hard for him to rely on Clark for news of Sam as it was for her and Dean. Clark wasn't the best source of information either. He kept it vague, as if he didn't think they deserve the answers they needed. Mary appreciated whatever it was that made Clark protective of her youngest son, but she wished he'd tell them what was really going on.

They stood in relative silence while waiting for Clark to come back, Dean sipping his beer and Mary and Bobby cradling theirs, the tension rising when Clark came back and picked up his beer.

"Well?" Dean demanded. "What's going on with him?"

Clark shrugged. "Nothing much. He's drunk, which I guess is news, but otherwise he's okay."

"Sam is _drunk_?" Bobby said, his eyes widening.

"Yeah," Clark said, unconcerned. "I guess he needed to wind down a little. He's got a lot going on. Speaking of…" He gestured the bartender over again and ordered another tequila.

When it arrived, Bobby put his hand over the glass before he could pick it up. "Don't you think you should keep your head in the game if you're going to find a demon?"

Clark narrowed his eyes and Bobby's hand flew away from the glass as if it had been thrust aside, though Clark hadn't moved. Bobby looked wide-eyed at this first show of telekinesis, but Clark seemed unconcerned. He knocked back his drink and said, "I've already found a demon."

Mary looked around quickly. "Where?"

Clark jerked his head to the right. "Woman. Red top and leather skirt. Short hair."

"She's a demon?" Dean asked, his eyes fixed on the woman who was looking back at him with an appreciative look.

"Yep. She's also a hooker. At least I think she is. That or she finds you inexplicably attractive, Dean. Maybe you should go make friends."

Mary's heart clenched. She didn't want Dean to be used as bait. "Can't you do it?" she asked.

"I'm obviously not her type. She's got her eyes on your son." He clapped Dean on the shoulder and said, "Go buy her a drink. We need her outside so we can grab her. I think people would notice if we put the handcuffs on her in here."

Dean looked between Mary and Bobby and then squared his shoulders and said, "Sure. I've got it." He picked up his beer and walked along the bar to the woman.

Mary's eyes fixed on him, fear curdling in her gut. Dean was a great hunter, she knew that better than anyone, but he had only faced one demon before, and that one had been in a trap most of the time. This one was free and dangerous, and he had to get it outside alone.

"Unclench, Mary," Clark said tiredly. "You're going to throw him off his game if you keep staring like that. Concentrate on what we're doing next. The questioning."

Bobby huffed a laugh. "Torture, that's sure to calm us all down."

Clark shrugged. "None of you have to get your hands dirty if you don't want to. I've been doing it long enough to not need a wingman. I just thought you would _want_ to be a part of protecting your son."

"I do," Mary said stiffly.

"Good. Then prepare to learn, as I am going to be teaching you a lot. Sam has all the potential for his gift, but you've got more than a little for this."

"You think Mary has potential to be a torturer?" Bobby growled.

"Yes," Clark said with a smile. "I can sense that when we're talking about the demon coming for Sam."

Mary didn't like to think of herself like that, but she couldn't deny she wanted revenge and if she could hurt the yellow-eyed demon, she would. She wasn't sure what that made her, and she didn't want to dwell on the question too much.

"Head's up," Clark said quickly. "He's on his way."

Mary looked to Dean and saw he and the woman were making their way away from the bar to the door. He was smiling widely, and seeming enamored by her words, but Mary could see the tension in his eyes that she thought the demon was missing. It was just a shadow that Dean's family alone would recognize.

"He's good," Clark said appreciatively as the door closed behind Dean and the demon. "We should follow." He down his shot and set the glass upside down on the bar. He checked his watch and said, "Here we go."

Eager to be with her son, Mary rushed away from them and out of the door. Bobby was on her heels and Clark ambled out behind them. Mary looked up and down the street, but she couldn't see Dean or his companion. The street was quiet.

Clark looked up and down and said, "This way," leading them to the right.

Mary heard a grunt and a moan, and she hurried her pace as Clark laughed. "I didn't mean he actually had to have sex with her," he said.

They reached an alley and Mary heard another grunt that sounded like Dean and then a woman's laugh. She quickly turned into the alley and then froze as she saw Dean pressed against the wall beside a dumpster with a knife at his throat. His face was set into a sneer but he was pale with fear. Mary's heart raced with fear.

Bobby skidded to a halt in front of Mary and raised his hands. "Okay now. No need for anyone to get hurt," he said in a voice of forced calm.

The demon holding Dean laughed and turned to look at them with black eyes. "You bring Clark Brennan with you and talk about no one getting hurt. You're hilarious."

"Wow, you know me," Clark said. "I feel so special. Have we met?"

"Yes," the demon said. "Portland, Oregon, 1989, you exorcised me."

Clark looked thoughtful and Mary willed him to do something. She was scared to say the words in case they made the demon act, but she was terrified for her son.

"I'll be honest, most of you animals blur into one another in my head, but I think I remember you," he said, "Your meatsuit was a little more… male… at the time though, right." He took another step forward.

The demon pressed the knife into Dean's throat and a drop of blood welled and trailed down his neck to his shirt.

"Now that right there was a mistake," Clark said. "You hurt him. And his mom is watching."

The demon laughed again. "Sure. I'm scared of her."

"Maybe not," Clark said. "But if you remember me, you should be scared."

Suddenly, the demon was shoved away from Dean, and she fell to the floor without anyone touching her. Clark and Bobby were on her in an instant and Mary was running to Dean. She dragged him into her arms, cradling the back of his head and checking him over for other injuries as Clark grunted, "Cuffs!"

Mary saw Bobby snap the cuffs around the demon's wrists where they were pinned behind her back and then they both stepped back. Clark had said the cuffs were warded so the demon couldn't break them or leave her meatsuit while they were on, but she still felt nervous as the demon's mouth opened and she threw back her head as if she was going to escape them.

"Afraid not," Clark said. "I've learned a few tricks since I saw you last."

The demon seemed to realize she was trapped as she lowered her head and growled in frustration as Clark and Bobby hauled her to her feet. "I'll scream," she threatened.

"Yes, you will," Clark said knowingly. "But not yet." He took a bandana from his pocket and tied it around her mouth and the back of her head, effectively gagging her.

"Get the van closer," Clark said. "I don't want to be seen dragging her down the street."

Bobby hurried away and Mary turned her attention back to her son. "Are you okay?" she asked urgently.

"I'm fine," Dean said. "She just caught me off guard and had me pinned before I could stop her." He sounded ashamed of his admission.

"Happens to the best of us," Clark said in a surprisingly gentle voice, making Dean turn and study him as if waiting for the snide remark to follow.

Bobby backed the van up to the mouth of the alley and Dean eased himself away from Mary to open the rear doors. Clark dragged the demon to the van and shoved her inside. "Grab the knife, Mary," he instructed. "I'll stay in the back and hold her down. It'll be easier to make the journey if she's not throwing herself around for the next ninety-minutes."

"Can you hold her that long?" Dean asked. "It's not going to hurt you."

Clark's lips quirked into a smile. "Are you worried about me, Dean? Has the fact I just saved your life formed a bond between us?"

Dean glared at him. "No, I just don't want you getting a migraine and letting her go."

Clark grinned. "No, I'm not like Sammy. My powers serve me. I'm not fighting anything. I can hold her as long as I need. It'll get boring though." He called through to the Bobby who was in the front of the van. "Keep the radio on."

Bobby grunted in response.

"See?" Clark said. "It's sorted. Now, let's go. I'm guessing you want your mom to bandage your shaving nick."

Dean strode forward and slammed the van doors closed in Clark's grinning face. He ran a hand over his face and spat, "I _hate_ him."

"I know," Mary said soothingly. "But he helped us today. He saved your life."

Dean nodded curtly. "I know." The way he said it made it clear he was angry about it.

Mary patted his arm. "Let's go. I'll ride back with you."

Dean slapped the back of the van and Bobby brought the engine to life and pulled away from the alley. Mary followed Dean to the Impala and got in the passenger side.

She was overwhelmed with relief that Dean was okay, but she was also nervous. They had a demon now, and torture would follow. It would be easier for her to let Clark do the questioning, neither Bobby or Dean would judge her if she chose to stay upstairs with them, but she _wanted_ to be there, and that made her ashamed of herself. It was because she wanted to be the first to hear anything the demon had to say that could help them protect Sam, to find out what the yellow-eyed demon wanted with him, but it was also wrong.

She couldn't help but think of what John would think if he saw her now.

* * *

**So… They have a demon to interrogate now. There's some real drama ahead. Hopefully I can pull it off as I hate writing torture scenes. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading. You ladies made this all so much easier xxx**

**I made a mistake in posting recently. Chapter 7 was posted instead of Chapter 5. I have corrected it now, but you'll need to go back and read chapters 5&6 to get to the right spot. **

* * *

_**Chapter Seven**_

Sam was drinking Jack Daniels out of the holy water hipflask Clark had given him and staring out over the cemetery, waiting for her to come but doubting she would.

He had been in Sacramento for three days, and there was no sign of Jessica. He hadn't dreamed of her either, and he'd not had a single vision. He was alert for them at all times, wishing for his sight to develop an aura and his head to ache, but other than the hangover he'd woken with that morning, his head was painless. He'd started to drink the day before in hopes that it would help somehow, lower his defenses so the vision would come, it didn't. He felt more blocked now.

He knew he looked a mess. People that passed his bench gave him curious looks and sped their pace. He needed to shower and shave. He needed to eat something that didn't come out of a vending machine. He needed to take care of himself. He could find no will though.

He took another swig from the hip flask and gasped. He'd never been a big drinker before, and his body wasn't used to dealing with this amount of alcohol.

Someone new came into the cemetery, bundled in a long coat with leather gloves on his hands carrying a bouquet of white roses, and walked toward Jessica's grave. Sam looked blearily at them and realized it was Jessica's brother, Flynn. For a moment he considered moving, hiding, but he couldn't find the will to do either. Perhaps Flynn wouldn't notice him, intent on his sister's grave.

Sam sat back as Flynn laid down the flowers and stepped back, his hands clasped in front of him. He just stood for a moment, looking down at the headstone, and then he raised his head and took in the cemetery. His eyes fell on Sam and he looked shocked for a moment before he schooled his features into a smile.

Sam took a drink from the flask again and stiffened as Flynn picked his way around the graves towards him.

He didn't say a word as he sat down beside Sam at first. He just clasped his hands in his lap and said, "Can I have a drink?"

Sam's eyebrows rose, but he handed over the flask and watched as Flynn brought it to his mouth and tipped it up to drink. When he lowered it and gave it back to Sam he said, "I didn't know you were in town. I thought you'd gone home to South Dakota."

"I did," Sam said. "I had to come back."

Flynn nodded. "I understand. Have you seen any of the family?"

Sam shook his head. "Not yet."

"You came back for Jess," Flynn stated.

"I need her," Sam replied, his voice heavy with sadness. He and Flynn had never been that close, but his defenses were lowered by the alcohol and his depression, and he found himself talking without thinking. "I miss her."

"We all do, so much. I need her so much I think I can see her."

Sam's head snapped up. "You do?"

"Yes. In the street and grocery store. In the waiting room at work. Sometimes I think I'm driving right past her."

Sam's heart sped. Was it possible that Jessica was coming to see them all, not just her parents? She would want to. Her family had been close-knit and she would want to be with them.

"It's never her though," Flynn went on. "It's just our minds playing tricks on us. When I look again, I see it's someone else. Perhaps they have the same hair or walk, they smile like her even, but it's not her. And that breaks my heart every time."

Sam sighed and his heart slowed. It was grief Flynn was talking about, not a clue to Jessica's continued presence.

"The twins are asking about her now," he said. "It doesn't matter how we explain it, they're too young to understand. I don't have the words to make it real for them. I'm not even sure I want to. I know I should, I _know _it, I've been trained in grief management in children, but it's harder when it's your own children."

Flynn was a psychiatrist, and if Sam wasn't so consumed with his need for Jessica, he would have felt sympathy for him, but all he felt was disappointment.

"I'm sorry," he said dutifully,

"Thank you," Flynn said. "How are you?"

Sam shrugged. He couldn't give an honest answer, that he was living on a razor's edge, his grief on one side, waiting to drown him, and his hope that she would come on the other. He knew which one he wanted to sink into, but he couldn't without her really being there.

"I understand," Flynn said. "But…" He sighed as he looked at the flask clutched in Sam's hand. "It won't help to drink this away, Sam. You need to take care of yourself for your family if not for yourself. They need you to be healthy. Mom said they almost lost you after the fire, you were so ill. Don't make them feel that again."

"They're not here," Sam said dully. "They can't see."

"I imagine they still know."

Sam hadn't really thought about it. He knew Clark would be reporting back to them about what he was seeing as they'd made a deal. What were they thinking about what he was telling them? Sam had been drunk when he'd seen him the night before. He did care what they thought, though he wished he didn't. He didn't want any of them worrying about him more than they had to. His feelings about his mother were complicated. He knew he didn't want to be around her, but that didn't mean he didn't care about her anymore. There was a difference between needing space to process what she had done and hating her.

"Mom and Dad aren't coping," Flynn said. "They've aged so much, and they're clinging to their faith in a way they never have before. I don't know if it helps. I can't seem to help them at all." His voice became bitter. "It's my job to help people deal with things like this, but all my years of study didn't prepare me. I can't even help myself."

"I'm sorry," Sam said automatically. "I saw them, too, and I couldn't help."

"You've seen them?" Flynn said, startled. "They didn't say."

"They didn't see me," Sam said quickly, realizing he'd slipped.

"Ah. That's probably for the best. No offence, Sam, but you're a mess. It would upset them to see you like this. I won't tell them you're here. But, perhaps, when you've cleaned up a little, you can call them. They'd like to hear from you."

Sam nodded. "Maybe."

He wished Flynn would leave now. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts and away from the reminders of the people he was letting down by behaving as he was. When Flynn's phone beeped with a message, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Flynn took out his phone and checked the message. "It's the office. I need to go," he said apologetically.

"Okay," Sam said, making a concerted effort not to sound too pleased.

"Take care of yourself, Sam, and remember what I said."

"I will," Sam said.

Flynn patted his shoulder and walked away. Sam watched him go and then relaxed and took a drink from his hipflask. He would stop drinking tomorrow. He would give himself one more day to be weak, and then he would claw his way back to functioning and decide what he was going to do next.

One more day for her to come.

* * *

Sam let the door of his motel room closed behind him and dropped his paper bag of takeout on the table before stripping off his coat and throwing it onto the bed. Housekeeping had been in and remade his bed and emptied the wastepaper basket of the trash from his vending machine meals, but they hadn't swept away the salt lines again the way they had the first two days. They'd probably just figured he was a nutcase that they were better off not questioning.

The room still had a musty, neglected air, as if his own feelings had infected it.

He sat down and unwrapped his burger. It wasn't what he wanted to eat, he didn't really want to eat anything at all, but he had compromised with himself; he would have something hot as long as it was easy. The burger joint down the street was the closest and easiest place he could think of.

He took a bite and grimaced. He couldn't see how Dean enjoyed these things. They clogged in his mouth and swallowing was an effort. He knew he needed to eat it though, and he forced himself to keep going, supplementing the burger with fries that he washed down with soda.

He was still drunk from his day of drinking, and the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels sat on the table in front of him, tempting him. He reminded himself he still had today to drink and wallow before he had to make decisions and become at least partially human again, but he still felt guilty as his hand reached for it. He tore off the plastic lid of his soda and poured some into his coke. He took a sip and felt better, more able to cope now. He still had to see Clark, and he thought a drink would help with that. He couldn't relax if he was tied up in knots of stress.

When he had finished eating, he bundled the trash and threw it into the bin then raked a hand over his face. If he could just see Clark he could relax and spend the rest of the evening as he wanted.

He sat down on the bed and focused on his breathing. It was hard to find a steady pace, and he wished Dean was there to measure against. That would have helped him, but it wouldn't have been fair on Dean. He would see what a mess Sam was. Flynn's reaction had been hard enough; Dean's would be so much worse.

When he managed a rhythm that was calmer, he focused on his body and Clark. He hoped he would be alone, so he wouldn't have to see his family while he was feeling so conflicted about what he was doing and why, but when he managed to rise up and out of himself and was drawn across the distance that blurred, he found Clark was with Mary and Bobby. They were in a bar that was more upscale that the places they'd usually visit, and Sam wondered what they were doing there. They didn't seem to be there to enjoy a drink as there was tension on Mary and Bobby's faces.

Clark picked up a bottle of beer and then sighed. "Timing, Sam," he said.

Mary's eyes softened. "He's here?"

"Yeah," Clark said. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Mary asked.

Clark laughed. "You might be used to me ducking out to talk to him, but I don't think anyone else is going to miss it if I stop breathing. I'll be in the restroom."

Sam followed him as he weaved through tables, passing a stressed looking Dean, and into the restroom that was empty of everyone but Clark and, astrally, Sam.

Clark opened a cubicle and said. "Let's not make this weird, Sam. You stay out here and wait." He closed the cubicle door behind him and then, a moment later, he was standing in front of Sam. "Good to see you," he said, and Sam thought there was genuine emotion in his voice.

"Hey," Sam said.

Clark frowned and leaned closer. "Are you drunk again?"

Sam shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"To me? No. But I guess it's lucky your family can't see you. You're a mess. What am I supposed to tell them?"

Sam shrugged. "Whatever you want."

Clark grinned. "I will. I'm guessing you've seen we've moved out of Singer's place. Do you want to know what we're doing?"

"Sure," Sam said in a sigh.

Clark narrowed his eyes. "That's a no."

"I want to know," Sam said, trying to force emotion into his tone for the lie. He was too drunk and miserable to care about anything more than his failure to find Jess.

"Liar," Clark scoffed. "I'll tell you when you actually _want_ to know. I'll be able to tell when that is. Until then you can get on with the drinking and stewing parts of life."

"There's something I do want to know," Sam said. "Why can I astral project so easily now. It doesn't feel like it did before. It doesn't hurt so much afterwards either."

Clark frowned. "Honestly, I don't know for sure. It could be that whatever is in you that fights is weaker, or it could be that what you managed against the poltergeist unlocked something in you. It's a shame you're not here really; I could do a lot with you if you let me. Any chance of you coming back soon?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do," Clark said. "You're still all twisted up by what your mom did. I get that. It's a shame though. If I wasn't working my own mission, I'd be asking where you are so I can come help you train. It would be satisfying to see you excelling and _really_ tapping into what's there."

Sam knew he was expecting him to ask what his mission was, but Sam had already guessed the answer. Clark wanted the Colt. Whatever they were doing in that bar was something to do with finding it. He wouldn't be there otherwise.

"But you are busy," Sam said. "So it's a moot point."

"You're a surlier drunk that I imagined. It's not as endearing as I'd expected. Is this just about your mom or are you maybe feeling things now, grief maybe?"

Sam shook his head jerkily. "I've got to go."

"Ah," Clark said knowingly. "I see. Okay. Come by tomorrow and we can talk."

"I will," Sam promised.

"Are you protected?" Clark asked.

"Yes," Sam said only partially honestly. He'd not laid the salt line in front of the door after he'd disturbed it coming in and scuffing it with his dragging footsteps.

"Do it," Clark said, undeceived. "That's the deal, Sam. If I don't think you're safe, I will find you and tell Mother Mary and your big brother."

Sam flinched away from the idea. "I'll do it now."

"Good," Clark said firmly. "See you tomorrow."

He disappeared from in front of Sam and the after a moment, the cubicle door opened and he stepped out. Sam allowed himself to be drawn back to his body and he opened his eyes in his motel room again, his gaze falling on the broken salt line. He got to his feet and took the box of salt from the small kitchenette counter and shook a fresh line just out of reach of the door's path. He dropped the box down again and flopped onto the bed. He was tired and his head was aching. It wasn't even close to the migraine pain it used to be after using his powers, but it was still enough to make him want to escape it.

He turned himself so his head was resting on the pillows and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep.

* * *

Sam was in the cemetery again, standing by Jessica's grave. He was waiting for her again, and the chill of the night on his face and the sounds of the cars passing on the street, very clear and real, made him hopeful it was a vision dream.

He looked around and searched for a sight of her, but she wasn't there. He had a feeling she was close though, just out of sight, and he resisted the urge to go looking. Something told him he had to let her come to him instead of searching her out.

He turned his attention back to the grave and stared at the words etched into the marble, finally allowing his feelings to connect and accept the real truth of them. She had been loved, and not just by him. His encounter with Flynn made the grief of her family more real to him than it had been before. He had seen it in visions and at the funeral when he was numb, but only talking to Flynn, hearing the catch in his voice as he spoke about the twins, made him see it clearly. She had left a hole in more lives than just his.

He heard movement behind him and he stiffened, hoping desperately that it would be her. When the sound grew louder as someone approached and stopped beside him, he allowed himself a glance to the side.

It was Jessica.

She was looking at him, too, her face just as awed as he thought his own would be.

"Jess," he whispered.

"I'm here," she said softly.

She reached for his hand, but before she could make contact, Sam snapped awake panting in his room, lying on top of the bedclothes.

His stomach rolled and he propelled himself from the bed and into the bathroom in time to lose the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He gasped and spat and then, when his stomach seemed to have stopped rebelling, he got up and went to the sink to brush his teeth. He kept his eyes down as he scrubbed them, removing all traces of the foul taste, and then spat the toothpaste out and wiped his face with a towel. Only then did he let himself look into the mirror.

He looked awful but animated in a way he hadn't been for weeks. His eyes were bright though bloodshot, and his lips were curved into an almost deranged smile. The sight of him would have scared the people he loved, but he couldn't calm himself. He was sure it had been a vision, not a dream, and she was waiting for him.

He spun on his heel and grabbed his coat from the end of the bed. He dragged it on as he stepped over the salt line and yanked open the door. He was halfway across the parking lot before the door clicked closed behind him.

The cemetery was a ten-minute walk away, and he made it at a run, his need for her propelling him on, even though the motion made his stomach roll and his head pound.

He threw open the iron gates of the cemetery and ran inside to her grave. He came to a skidding stop beside it and tried to calm himself. In the dream he had been calmly waiting, and he didn't want to do anything that might stop the dream from coming true. He had to recreate the exact moment. He looked around as he had in his dream, and then looked back to the grave and concentrated on the words. Then, when he heard movement, he held his breath.

When the sound stopped, he turned to the side and gasped. She was really there. Her clothes were the ones he'd seen in his dreams and visions, and she wore the same look of awe she had before.

Scared to break the illusion but scared not to make it real, he said her name in a whisper and she beamed at him. "I'm here."

Tears spilled down Sam's face and he drew a shaky breath. "You're really here." His voice broke. "Oh, god, you're really here."

"Yes," she said gently. "I'm really here, baby."

She reached up a hand to his face, and Sam pulled back. He didn't want to hurt her, but he couldn't bear for her hand to move through him as a ghost's would.

A crease of confusion appeared between her eyes and her eyes became sad. "Why won't you let me touch you?"

"You're a ghost," Sam said, his voice catching. "You can't."

"Am I ghost?" she asked. "I don't know what I am apart from here with you."

She reached for him again and Sam locked his muscles in place so he wouldn't have to see the look of sadness in her eyes again. It seemed to take a long time for her hand to make contact, and when it did, Sam's heart leapt at the solid touch of her.

He gasped her name and whispered, "I can feel you!"

She looked amazed. "And I can feel you, too. Does that mean I'm real?"

"I don't know," Sam said honestly. "But I don't care."

He swept her into his arms, feeling the weight of her against him, and slammed their lips together. He felt every moment of it as he poured all his love into the kiss and his heart raced with joy. He wasn't sure what she was as he knew she had died, but in that moment it didn't matter. He could touch her, he could kiss her.

She was really there.

* * *

**So… They're finally together. I have been waiting to be able to write this for a long time, and the experience was harder but more satisfying than I imagined. How was it for you?**

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading.**

* * *

_**Chapter Eight**_

Sam pulled back from Jessica and drew gasping breaths that hurt his chest. He stared at her in awe, not understanding why she looked so sad until she began to stroke his cheek and soothe him and he realized he was sobbing so hard his back was bowing and his shoulders heaving.

"It's okay, baby," she said gently. "You're okay."

He didn't know why he was crying so hard when he was so happy. His tears blurred his eyes so he couldn't see her face at the sounds of his own sobs made it hard to hear her. He was angry at himself, it was wrong that he couldn't see her or hear her voice, it was a waste, but he couldn't stop. The emotional outpouring he'd been so scared of had come, but it wasn't grief that did this to him, it was pure joy. He crushed her against him again, holding her and relishing the feeling of having her in his arms again.

"Come with me," she said, her voice coming from far away.

She took his hand and led him away from her grave. She steered him around the other headstones, guiding him over the grass, until they reached the bench which had been his place to observe and wait for her for the days he had spent here. She eased him down and sat beside him, putting her arm around his shuddering back and leaning her head on his shoulder. Sam gasped and moaned as the icy night air burned his chest and he pressed kisses to her hair.

It took a long time for him to choke himself to calm, and his body ached with the effort of his breakdown. When his breathing was under control, he lifted her chin and kissed her again. She returned it with fervor.

"Jess," he said, savoring the name on his tongue.

She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with the same joy he felt. "Sam…"

"I love you," Sam said, each word filled with the weight of adoration.

"I love you, too." She kissed his cheek, her breath tickling his skin.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted, reaching to touch her face again.

She laughed. "You think I do?"

He was in awe of her presence. He had hoped for this since he'd had the vision of her, but he'd not truly let himself believe it was real. He had come to California to find her because he'd needed her, but it was also a distraction from Mary, a way to give himself a little space to process what had happened. Now she was there with him, he could touch her and feel her touch in return, he couldn't quite believe it. He had so many questions, things he needed to know, but he couldn't ask them in case it broke the spell and she disappeared again.

She smoothed a finger over his furrowed brow, and he leaned into the touch. "Talk, baby," she said. "I can hear the cogs whirring in there."

Sam laughed. It was something she used to say sometimes when he would become lost in his thoughts. She used to tease him that his brain worked too fast and the cogs would start to smoke.

"Relax," she said gently. "Say what you need to say."

"I'm scared to," Sam admitted.

"Don't be. No one is going to hurt you."

"I'm not scared for me. I'm worried you're going to go again if I say the wrong thing. I don't want to break the spell or wake up."

"You're not dreaming, Sam. I'm real." She pinched the back of his hand hard. It hurt, rooting him to the moment. "Do you believe me now?"

"Yes," Sam said. "I'm awake."

"And I'm not going anywhere. When I do, I always come back here anyway."

"You go?" Sam asked. "Go where?"

"I'm not sure. Sometimes I'm here, watching, or in town, but then I disappear into a place where everything is confused. I don't like that place. But I always come back here in the end. This is where I came after the fire."

Sam's eyes widened. "You remember what happened?"

Jessica's eyes became sad. "It's not something you forget, Sam."

Sam winced. "I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry…"

She pressed a finger to his lips to silence his flow of apologies. "It wasn't your fault."

Sam knew it was, but he couldn't bear to tell her. He needed her too much to risk her anger and departure. He had been so long without her. He thought he would die if she left him again.

"But this is where I came," she said. "I was burning, and then I was here. I don't think it was straight away, but there wasn't a grave then. That came later. My funeral took a long time, didn't it?"

Sam nodded. "Your family was waiting for me. I was in the hospital at first."

"The fire," she said, her voice worried. "You were hurt?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," she said sadly.

Sam kissed her again. "It wasn't your fault. This was something that was done to us."

Done because of him but not by choice. He would have given anything to protect her from that.

She stretched her arms. "So, I'm a ghost. I didn't even know they were real."

Sam bit his lip. He had known and he had never told her. He had wanted to protect her, but it had all been for nothing anyway. She had still died.

He touched her cheek again, unable to resist, and he marveled at how real she felt again. She was solid. He had never been this close to a ghost before. He had been punched by one, and once he'd almost been strangled by one until Dean managed to drag himself to the grave to throw in the lighter, but he'd never imagined it would feel like this. It felt different. It was as if she was really there with him. If not for the fact it was impossible, he would have believed she was really back.

He wondered how it was possible. Was she a different kind of ghost, or was it him that was different? Was this because of his gift. Missouri sensed spirits, talked to them, could she touch them like this, too? He couldn't ask her. She would want to know why he was asking, and it would get back to his family. They would have questions. They might even figure it out. They were smart and they would know there was only one ghost he would care about. How hard would it be for them to track him if they knew he was with Jessica?

They could make her go!

The thought jolted Sam like an electric shock. What would they do if they knew Jessica was a ghost? Spirits were vengeful. They had to be destroyed. Jessica wasn't like that, she never could be, but would they understand?

They could never find out.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter," Sam said, not wanting her to be scared, too. "Really, it's okay." He would protect her from them.

She appraised him for a moment and then nodded. "If I am a ghost, it's not great," she said. "People see me, and I have to hide all the time. I thought I would have more… powers, I guess, that it would be cooler. I'm tired of hiding, but I don't want my parents to see me."

"I thought you would," Sam said.

Jessica sighed. "I want to talk to them more than almost anything. It would be cruel though. Knowing I died was bad enough for them. For them to know I am still here but not really would hurt them. Sometimes I have to see them, so I watch, but I make sure they don't see. I didn't want anyone to know, not even you."

Sam's heart lurched. "Why did you come to me though?"

"I saw you. It was like you already knew I was here. You kept coming back here, I would see you sitting here, but you were getting worse. You're not taking care of yourself. I was worried. I thought I had to try to help you."

"You are helping," Sam said adamantly. "You're here."

She cupped his cheek and ran a hand down his stubbled jaw. "You need to take better care of yourself."

"I will," Sam said quickly. "I promise. I'll do better now."

"I think that means getting warm, too," she said. "You're wheezing."

Sam tried to clear his throat but it made him cough. He had been unaware of it, but the cold air was aggravating his chest more than Clark's cigarettes had ever managed. The coughing seized him, making it worse as he gasped more cold air in.

Jessica rubbed his back and said, "You need to go get warm."

"I don't want to leave you!" Sam rasped.

"I'll be here tomorrow. Come back after dark, and I'll be waiting."

Sam stared imploringly into her eyes. He knew she was right, he did need to take better care, but he was unwilling to leave her already. He _never _wanted to leave her again.

Jessica kissed him gently on the lips and said, "I'll be waiting," then got to her feet and began to walk away. Sam lurched to his feet and reached for her, but she stepped back and shook her head. "Take care of yourself for me. I promise I'll come back."

She turned and walked away again, and Sam gasped, a coughing fit seizing him. By the time he had choked to something resembling even breaths again, she had disappeared.

He called her name, but there was no answer. Tears began to streak down his cheeks again he rubbed his chest to ease the tightness.

She would come back, she'd promised, but Sam didn't want to leave. It was only the fact he needed to if he was going to be well enough to come back again when she _would _be waiting that made it possible for him to turn away and made for the gates again.

As he left the cemetery and walked back slowly to his motel, his lungs protesting the effort, he wondered what her limitations were. He had seen ghosts tethered to their bones before, as Jessica must be, but he didn't know how far away they could be from them. Perhaps they could test it. If she could come to his motel with him, they need never be apart.

He could keep her forever, just as he had once dreamed of when he'd brought her ring.

* * *

Dean was pouring coffee into four mugs, making the movements slow and measured. He was in no rush to finish as that would mean he had to make a choice.

Mary, Bobby and Clark were locking the demon down in the basement, and soon they would be ready to question it. He told himself he was doing something useful, getting them coffee to sustain them for what would be a long night, but really it was an excuse. He didn't want to be in the basement with that demon.

He knew he didn't have to be. They had an arrangement; he was going to search the journals with Bobby while Mary and Clark questioned the demon. He could stick to that and Mary and Bobby would understand, but Clark wouldn't. Dean didn't know why he cared what Clark thought, they didn't like each other and that wasn't going to change anytime soon, but he still didn't want to be seen as weak. Clark didn't need more ammunition to attack Dean with.

It was more than that though. There was something that he didn't want to admit to himself. They were going to be questioning these demons, torturing them for information, and if Dean wasn't there to hear it, he might not get the truth. Clark wouldn't tell him anything, and he wasn't sure he could trust Mary to either. This was about Sam, they might hear something that could help them protect him, and he would need to know what it was. If Mary decided that he was better off not knowing, maybe that she thought he would judge her for it, she wouldn't tell him.

There were footsteps on the stairs and Bobby came into the kitchen. Dean turned to him and saw that his surrogate father looked strained and weary.

"It's locked down," he said. "They're just getting things ready."

"Has it said anything?" Dean asked.

Bobby huffed a laugh. "It's said plenty, regular Chatty Cathy."

"That's good."

"It would be if it was saying anything useful. Mostly it just makes threats and mocks us. Hopefully it'll be a little more helpful when Clark starts in on it." He picked up two of the mugs and said, "I'll get these down to them. I think they're going to need it. I don't see them getting much sleep tonight."

Dean picked up the other mugs and said, "I'll come."

Bobby did a double take. "You sure about that?"

"Yes," Dean said, pleased that his tone remained even. "I need to."

Bobby stared into his eyes for a moment and then said, "I imagine you do. Come on then."

They walked into the hall and then him down to the basement. Dean drew a deep breath before taking the last step and turning the corner to see the demon. She was tied to the chair with thick ropes that were dripping wet and making smoke rise where they touched her bare arms, making Dean sure it was holy water that soaked them. Her wrists were cuffed to the arms of the chair with the warded handcuffs Clark had brought with him. Despite her imprisonment, she looked unconcerned as she grinned at Dean and said, "Hey, handsome. I wondered if you'd make a visit."

Dean handed Mary a coffee and ignored the words and laugh that followed from the demon. It was hard to think of it as just a demon now though. As he looked at her, he saw the pixie cut red hair and full lips that wore pink lipstick. She was the sort of woman he would have been attracted to in any other circumstance.

Clark was bowed over a bucket of water on the table, speaking quiet Latin that Dean recognized from one of the books he'd read as a blessing to make holy water. Mary sipped her coffee and watched Dean as he surveyed the room, his eyes trying to avoid the demon. On the table were two cans of salt and a turkey baster Dean was sure Clark had brought with him as he was pretty sure no one in the house owned one. He wondered at its use, and then decided it was probably better if he didn't know.

"I didn't think you'd come down," Mary said, her concerned eyes on him. "You don't need to be here for this."

"Aw, Hot Date a little squeamish," the demon said. "He looks a little sensitive. Maybe you should bow out. If I remember my last encounter with this lunatic, things are going to get nasty."

"They are," Clark said, straightening up and taking the coffee from Bobby. He sipped at her and then set it down. "If you're not here for the show, you might want to get out of here now. I'm about to start."

Dean shook his head. "I'm staying."

Clark raised an eyebrow, looking almost impressed. "Let's go then."

"Whenever you're ready," the demon said.

Clark picked up a small tin cup and dunked it in the holy water. He lifted it above the demon's head and said, "First things first, what do they call you? I like to know the name of my toys. It forms a connection."

"Go to hell!" the demon spat.

Clark shrugged and tipped the water over the demon's head. It hissed and smoked and the demon growled in pain.

"Want to try again?" Clark asked.

The demon shook her head, sending droplets of water into the air from her hair that was plastered to her head.

"I'll call you Candi then," Clark said. "Name of a masseuse that ripped me off. I was promised a happy ending and ended up with my wallet, phone, and pants being stolen. I couldn't even go after her to get them back without being arrested for indecent exposure. It's always bothered me that she got away, unfinished business, you know. I'll get closure from you. It will be cathartic."

He seemed perfectly at ease with what he was doing, almost as if he was enjoying it. Dean thought he probably was. If he had been hunting demons to do this to them all these years, he probably had found pleasure in it. Dean didn't think it was all about revenge either. He thought Clark was more than a little twisted.

The demon laughed. "If it makes you feel better to justify what you're going to do to me and this meat suit, call me what you like. It doesn't mean you're getting anything from me. I will never tell you what you want to know."

Clark smiled cruelly. "Never say never." He refilled the cup and gestured toward Mary. "Do you know who this is, Candi?"

The demon looked blank. "Should I?"

"Her name is Mary Winchester."

The demon narrowed her green eyes. Dean wished they were black as then it would have been easier to remember that it was not a girl but a monster.

"Name means nothing to me," she said. "I thought this was about your girlfriend again. I told you I couldn't help you then. I can't help you now either. Really, you'd be saving yourself a lot of time and effort if you just let me go. I still don't know anything about the demon that took her. It's not like we're a community that keeps in touch and shares the stories of our meatsuits."

Clark dipped his fingers into the water and flicked them at her face, making her hiss and flinch away.

"It's not about Ruby this time," he said. "I've got different questions. Like what can you tell me about a demon with yellow eyes."

The demon's eyes widened for a moment and her lips parted with shock before curling into a smile. "Demons have black eyes or red," she said. "None of us have yellow eyes. Whatever you're looking for isn't a demon. You must have come across some other kind of monster."

"I don't think we did," Clark said setting down the cup and drawing water into the turkey baster. "I think you know exactly who we're asking about. And we're going to find out." He pointed the baster into her face and said, "I remember you being pretty precious about your eyes last time. Was that you or the meat suit?"

He squired it into her right eye and she screamed. The sound was so human. Dean's stomach clenched and his locked his muscles down to stop himself moving away from the sound, from fleeing.

The water ran out and Clark refilled it and held it threateningly in front of the left eye. "Want to think again?"

The demon glared up at him, the water dripping down her face looking like tears. "You can do this all day, but you're not going to break me. I was under Alastair on the rack. Nothing you can say is going to break me. I can handle pain."

"You said that last time," Clark said conversationally. "But I remember a whole lot of screaming that made me think this Alastair is an amateur compared to me."

The demon laughed harshly. "Alastair can do things you can't even imagine. All you have is salt and holy water. He has a razor to use, and he's an artist."

"So am I," Clark said.

"Not while you're protecting the meatsuit you aren't. You're limited. And it's too late anyway. The body is dead."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. Was this woman already dead?

"I don't think so," Clark said. "You remember the pat down. That wasn't just for fun. We didn't see anything that would doom this meatsuit."

She grinned. "Internal injuries are easy to miss. She's a goner."

Clark shrugged and squirted the water into the demon's eye, making her scream, the sound piercing through Dean like a knife. He was trying to see the demon through the innocent face, but it was impossible. She looked human and he couldn't stand it.

Mary placed her hand on his arm and squeezed it. Dean wasn't sure if she was taking comfort or giving it, but he didn't feel comforted. He felt that he was being changed by what he was witnessing, corrupted somehow, as if this was damaging who he was as a person.

"Who is the yellow-eyed demon?" Clark asked over her screams.

"I don't know!" she shrieked and Dean flinched.

"Go upstairs," Mary said gently. "You don't need to see this, Dean."

Dean hated that he wanted to do it. It made him feel weak, as if he was letting his family down by not being strong enough to stay.

The demon laughed. "Hot Date feeling the strain of seeing torture?" she asked. "Wait until the psycho starts waterboarding me with holy water. That's when the fun really starts." She softened her face into a false smile. "Go. Get away from this before he starts making you join in. Save yourself."

Clark lifted the bucket of water and said, "Go if you're going, Dean. It's not getting better anytime soon."

Feeling like a coward, Dean turned for the stairs, the splash and screams of the demon following him. He looked back and saw Clark had upended the bucket over the demon's head. Unable to fight the need, Dean pounded up the stairs, away from the sounds.

He fled.

* * *

**So… Some really happy stuff with Sam and Jess followed by some really dark stuff with the demon. I loved writing the Sam/Jess scene and struggled with the interrogation. I hate writing torture. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading. You ladies rock xxx**

* * *

_**Chapter Nine**_

Sam's eyes opened slowly, drowsily, and he looked up at the ceiling. He was still dressed and stretched across his bed at an awkward angle, as if he had collapsed onto it and fallen asleep. He didn't remember. The last clear memory he had was of getting back to the room and stripping off his coat. He puzzled over it for a moment as he sat up and looked around the room, and then the memory rushed at him.

Jess!

He had seen her in the cemetery, he had spoken to her and touched her. He had kissed her. She was really here.

The realization made him feel like his stomach was full of butterflies. It had happened. His wishing and waiting had come to an end and he'd found her at last. She was back. It was the most incredible feeling that was only lessened by the fact he knew he had to wait until dark to see her again.

He had a whole day to kill, and he didn't know how. He broke it down into small steps. He hadn't taken care of himself lately. He needed to shower and shave. That was his first step.

He got up from the bed and walked into the bathroom. His clothes were creased and grungy feeling, so he stripped them off and threw them onto the floor. He set the water running and held his hand under it while he waited for the temperature to regulate. When it had, he stepped under the flow and let it soak his hair and body then lathered his hair with shampoo and soaped his body. He felt better with the water pounding over him. The water pressure was better than most motels he'd stayed in before, and it soothed his stiff muscles from the awkward angle he'd slept in.

He rinsed and shut off the water then stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist then went to the basin and wiped a hand over the steamed mirror. His reflection wasn't reassuring. His eyes were almost wild with the intensity of the emotion and excitement he felt, but they were also shadowed and his skin pale from the drinking and lack of proper rest he'd had for days. There was a scruff of thick stubble around his jaw. He opened his wash kit and took out his razor and shaving cream. He wanted to look better when he saw Jessica again, to look like the man she had known rather than the wreck that had been drinking for days.

When he was cleanshaven again, he went into the room and towelled off his body and hair. He was running low on clean clothes in his duffel, and the ones he had been wearing were dotted around the room where he'd left them after undressing.

He dressed and gathered his dirty clothes for a trip to the laundromat later. He had a day to kill after all.

His stomach rumbled with real hunger for the first time in days, and he pulled on and laced his boots, knowing the next step had to be getting some real food into himself. He'd been eating mostly from the vending machine outside the motel office since he'd arrived, and he wanted something more substantial in his stomach.

He grabbed his coat from the chair he'd draped it over and pulled it on and then froze as the hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he felt the sensation of someone watching him. Knowing it was Clark and that he needed to deal with him or leave himself open to being followed all day, Sam sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to calm himself. It was harder than it had been the day before as he was wired now in anticipation of seeing Jessica again, but eventually he managed to control his breaths and find the calm he needed to withdraw from his body.

He rose up and saw Clark watching him from where he stood by the door. He nodded curtly and said, "Sam."

"Hey, Clark."

Clark looked pointedly around the room, obviously taking in the differences to the room he'd seen two days ago when he'd come to see Sam when Sam forgot to go to him, too drunk to remember. "I see you've let housekeeping in. I hope you left them a tip of cleaning up this mess. I see they left the salt lines down though. How did you explain that?"

Sam shrugged. "I figure they just think I'm superstitious. That or they just don't want the bother of cleaning up my spills anymore. They haven't done this, though. I cleaned up my own crap."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Well, it was about time. My standards are low, but this place was looking pretty gross." He looked Sam up and down. "Are you sober, too?"

"Yes," Sam said defensively.

"The bars not open yet where you are?"

"They're not, but I'm done drinking."

"Shaved, sober, the debris of bad living cleaned up. You've got me kinda worried, Sam. What changed?"

Sam fought the urge to fidget. He should have guessed Clark would see the difference in him. He had been a mess for days, and even he could see the change in himself was stark. Clark wasn't stupid. Of course he had questions.

"Nothing's changed," he said. "I just realized I needed to sort myself out."

"You're not wrong. This is a big improvement. What are your plans for today?"

"No plans," Sam said quickly, too quickly for it to be believable.

Clark's lips quirked into a smile. "Fine. Lie. But there's no shame in spending a day in a strip club. We've all done it before."

Sam rolled his eyes. "How are _you_, Clark. And why are you here? I was coming to check in with you later."

"I've saved you the trouble," Clark said. "Honestly, I just wanted a break. Things are intense at Casa Singer right now. Lots of angsting going on."

He obviously wanted Sam to ask what he was talking about, but, selfishly, Sam didn't. Whatever was happening there, they could handle it. If he knew, he might feel the need to go back and help, and though he couldn't do that now Jessica was here, he would be torn by it. He wanted to be able to focus wholly on Jessica when he was with her.

When he didn't speak, Clark said, "And I can tell you have no interest in that, so I should let you get back to what you're doing. Anything you want me to pass on to Mother Mary or Dean."

"Just that I'm okay," Sam said.

Clark narrowed his eyes. "Sure, I can lie."

"I _am_ okay," Sam insisted, wanting the conversation over.

"No, you're not," Clark said. "You're doing better, which is great, but you're not okay. Something is going on with you still." He shrugged. "You'll tell me when you want me to know, I guess. I can respect privacy." He raised a hand in farewell and said, "See you, Sam," before disappearing.

Sam drew back into himself and rubbed his temples. His head was aching, but it was so much better than it had been the first time he'd tried. He could manage this kind of pain. He had a problem though.

Clark had been able to see him when he came, and he'd seen the room around Sam. If he came when Sam was with Jessica, he would see her, too. Clark said he respected his privacy, but Sam wasn't sure if that would extend to concealing the fact Sam was with the ghost of his dead girlfriend from him family. He couldn't risk them finding out. It wasn't safe. He knew there was a hex bag that could stop him being heard, but he needed to stop Clark seeing him, too.

He couldn't ask Missouri as the news would get back to Mary, Dean and Bobby fast. She probably wouldn't even tell him anyway. She would want Clark to be able to check on him. He needed to find his own way to hide himself.

His rumbling stomach forgotten, Sam took his laptop from his bag and booted it up. If you looked hard enough, you could find anything on the internet, and he was going to find what he needed, no matter how long it took.

* * *

Sam found some ingredients on an occult page that he thought he might be able to cobble together to make a hex-bag to block Clark. He knew so little of what he was doing that it also might make his head explode, but he thought the risk of that was low and so was going to try.

There was a new age store in town that he'd once been to with Jessica when they'd visited her parents where he'd bought her a pair of rose quartz drop earrings, and he headed there next. It was deep in town from where he was staying and he made his way there on foot. He wished he had a car to speed the journey, but he wasn't spending a cent more than he needed to. He had enough money to keep him in the motel for a while, but after that ran out, he was going to need to find himself a way to earn more.

The fact he was thinking of staying here long term, leaving his family for good, didn't occur to him. His thoughts were completely occupied with Jessica and that he needed to be with her. His focus was her. What he would be doing to the people he loved didn't register at all.

None of the restaurants or diners he was passing on the way to the store registered with him either. His stomach didn't even rumble anymore. The need to protect Jessica overpowered his human needs. If he was able to think clearly, he would have known his obsession was unhealthy, but he couldn't. Jessica was what mattered, and blocking Clark was for her safety.

When he reached the store, he noted the hunters' signs in the window that he recognised from Mary and Bobby's teachings when he was hunting with them before college, and he felt hopeful that he was going to find the help he needed.

He pushed open the door, hearing the bell tinkle in the way it did when he visited Mr. Rosenburg's bookstore. The air was filled with the smell of patchouli from the incense sticks that were burning on the counter, and the shelves were arrayed with ornaments, crystal balls and muted colored books of magic that Sam thought would be full of recipes for cleansing rituals and fake love spells. The real magic in this store was surely kept behind the counter.

There was a pair of teenage girls at a rack arrayed with jewelry, holding up pentagram necklaces and crystal earrings to examine. They gave Sam a passing glance as he entered and giggled.

Sam went to the counter where a man with long braided grey hair stood and pulled out a piece of motel stationery he'd scribbled the list of ingredients he needed. "Do you stock these?" he asked.

The man put on a pair of spectacles and read down the list. "Yes," he said slowly with a frown. "This is a potent mix. What are you planning to do with them?"

"I need to block something," Sam said, giving the girls a sideways glance.

The man nodded and spoke up for the girls to hear. "I'm afraid I'm closing, ladies. If there's something you wish to buy…"

The girls looked around, their carefully made up eyes annoyed. "What about him?" the taller of the two asked.

"He has an appointment," the man said.

"For a _spell_?" the smaller girl asked with a giggle.

"Something like that," Sam muttered.

The man smiled patiently. "If there's nothing you wish to buy, I will need to lock up now."

The girls set down the items they'd been examining and started towards the door. The man followed them and slid the bolt over the door behind them and flipped the wooden sign to closed. He came back to the counter and looked at Sam's list again. "Very potent," he said as if their exchange hadn't been interrupted.

"I need to block someone from seeing me through astral projection," Sam said.

His eyebrows rose. "That's potent, too. Not many have that gift."

"I do," Sam said. "So if I can still see and feel him still, that would help. Is that possible?"

"Absolutely. It won't come cheap though."

Sam took his wallet from his pocket and said, "That's not a problem." No matter what his cost, how it would limit his time before needing to find a job, it was going to be worth it.

The man reached under the counter and pulled out a wooden box that he opened, revealing small jars of herbs and crystals. He took a swatch of fabric from a drawer and laid it on the counter then began to shake in loose herbs and pinches of colourful powders. "I will add obsidian," he said. "It will enhance the power to block and will protect you from other things."

"Things like?" Sam asked.

The man looked him in the eye and said, "What do you know about demons?"

"I know enough."

He nodded thoughtfully and said. "This will stop them being able to sense you if they're looking. They will have to physically see you to find you."

Sam's eyes widened. "Can you write this down for me? I know other people it can help."

If he could get this information to his family, they could be protected, too.

"I can." The man said, dropping a piece of inky black stone into the center of the ingredients and twisting it closed. He tied it with a leather cord and pushed it across the counter to Sam. "There." He pulled over a pad of paper and began to jot down notes in a list. "This is what you will need."

Sam took the offered list and asked, "Will I still be able to sense him coming and speak to him without him seeing everything?"

"You will find him in the veil, and he will be able to sense you if you look for him, but, if you both have the bags, you won't be able to see anything in the real world." He leaned a little closer to Sam and asked, "How long have you been practicing?"

Sam frowned. "Practicing?"

"You're a psychic, aren't you?"

Sam rubbed the back on his neck. "Yeah. I guess I am." He knew he was, but this was the first time he'd spoken about it to anyone apart from family, Clark or Missouri."

"Do you know how lucky you are?" he asked. "I can sense and commune with spirits, but the astral plane…" He shook his head. "That's really quite remarkable."

Before Jessica, Sam would have protested the word, but now he had her, could touch her and kiss her because of his gift, he knew he was incredibly lucky.

"I know," he said seriously. "How much do I owe you?"

The man looked disappointed, perhaps he wanted further discussion of Sam's abilities, but he merely drew a deep breath and said, "It will be three-hundred, even."

Sam took the money from his wallet and handed it over. It was enough to take off a week of the cheap motel he was staying in before he'd need to find more money, but it was worth it. Sam would have cleared his wallet for this.

The man tucked the hex bag into small paper bag and said, "Take care of yourself."

Sam thanked him and followed the man to the door and waited while it was unbolted before going outside into the cool air and tucking the hex bag into his pocket.

He knew Clark wouldn't be happy that Sam had blocked him, but Sam could sell it as a matter of protection, and they could still talk when they wanted to. He was keeping his deal. He was just stretching the terms a little. And he would give Clark the same option to block him while protecting himself from demons.

Really, it was a good thing Sam was doing. He was helping them all, not just himself. They would understand. And if they didn't, it was still worth it.

This was for Jessica.

* * *

**So… Sam is being a bit sneaky, blocking Clark, but he's not thinking clearly right now. He's consumed with Jessica — naturally. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading.**

* * *

_**Chapter Ten**_

The screams pierced Mary's head and heart, making her feel sick. She had stood for hours watching Clark work on the demon, tired and stressed, wishing it was over.

Clark seemed perfectly comfortable, which Mary supposed he was. He worked his way through a pack of cigarettes, filling the air with smelly smoke that tickled Mary's throat, and stopped only to light another cigarette and change tools between the holy water Mary kept replenished by filling the bucket and blessing the water, and the salt cans she opened for him. She felt a little like a she was assisting a macabre surgeon.

The only way to mark time passing was when Bobby would bring down more coffee and food for them. The sandwiches were left untouched, but Mary had drunk so much coffee she could feel the caffeine working its way through her system, making her hands tremble. If Clark or the demon noticed it, they didn't comment. Clark was distracted by what he was doing, and the demon was in too much pain now to care about anything else.

The coffee served the purpose of giving Mary an excuse to go upstairs to the bathroom, and each time she stepped into the hall on the first floor, she breathed a sigh of relief as the weight of what she was witnessing lessened for a while. She checked on Dean and Bobby when she was upstairs, too. They were reading Colt's journals, only speaking when Mary came in to check on what was happening in the basement. She told them each time that there was no news, and they both would sigh and return to the journals. They had no news for her either.

Clark picked up a can of salt and pulled back the demon's head sharply with a hand on her forehead. "Open up," he said.

The demon clamped her mouth closed.

Clark sighed and narrowed his eyes at her. As if an invisible hand was dragging her jaw down, the demon's mouth opened and Clark grinned. "That's better," he said, pouring the salt into the demon's mouth, making her choke and sputter.

Mary shifted nervously, wanting to tell him to stop before the woman the demon was using as a meatsuit suffered, but before she could make herself say it, to interrupt him and show her own weakness, Clark released the demon and stepped back.

"How was that?" he asked.

The demon spat salt, moaning with pain and glaring at him, and said, "It was nothing. You're nothing. You're an amateur."

Clark shrugged. "Maybe I am. I'm learning every day though. I'm in no rush to get you out of that poor woman, so I'll use you as a guinea pig for my experiments. Holy water hurts, salt hurts, what do you think will happen if I dump a can of salt into a cup of holy water? Shall we find out?"

The demon looked scared for a moment before she schooled her expression into one of loathing again. "Sure."

Clark smiled cruelly and filled a cup with holy water from the bucket. He upended the can over it and shook in the salt, pausing after a moment to say, "Enough do you think, Mary, or shall I keep going?"

Hating herself but knowing she needed to project the right persona, she said, "More."

Clark grinned and shook in the rest of the can. "That'll do, I think."

He swirled the water with his finger and approached the demon again. "Here goes…" She clamped her jaw closed but Clark was able to force it open again, one hand on her head and his ability pressing down on her jaw. The demon squeezed her black eyes closed and Clark poured in the water. As it made contact with her mouth and tongue, it hissed and smoked. The demon tried to scream, but it gargled against the water.

Only when the cup was empty did Clark release her and say, "Well, that was fun."

The demon gasped and groaned and rasped. "You're wasting your time. I can't tell you anything."

"You really can," Clark said. "It'll be better for you if you do. You won't hurt anymore."

"You don't understand," the demon said weakly. "He will kill me."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Who is he"

She shook her head. "I can't!"

Clark filled another cup but Mary grabbed his arm and shook her head. He raised a questioning eyebrow, and Mary said, "Wait." She stepped closer to the demon and said, her tone calm despite the turmoil she felt, "Who are you afraid of? Who is this demon?"

She smirked. "I wondered when you'd break your vow of silence. Done with the strong silent thing? Ready to play?"

"Yes," Mary said, walking to the table and picking up the cup and dipping it into the bucket of holy water. "I want to know about the yellow-eyed demon." Ignoring Clark's amazed stare, she walked towards the demon and said, "And you're going to tell me."

"You might as well just exorcize me and get it over with," the demon said. "I can't tell you anything, and since you can't kill me, that's the only way this is going to end. Find a new demon, a weaker one, and ask your questions."

Mary tilted the cup over the demon's head slightly, a threat not an attack, and said, "What's Hell like?"

The demon laughed. "Hell is _hell_. It's flowing blood and exposed flesh and bone, agony and torment, even for a demon."

"And you'd rather go back there than talk to us?" Mary asked mildly. "It sounds worse than what we're doing. Is it because we're better than you say, or are you thinking you're going to break and would rather suffer Hell than break for us and have the yellow-eyed demon coming for you?"

The demon's lips pressed into a thin line.

"I'm right," Mary said with a small smile. "You're forgetting there's a third option. You can tell us what we want to know, and we can let you go. You'll have to run, yes, but you will have a chance. The pain will end at least."

The demon narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, maybe I'd believe you'd let me go, you're the weak one, but him…" She jerked her head at Clark. "Do you really expect me to believe he'd let me go?"

"It's not his choice," Mary stated calmly. "I'm the one in charge here. Clark just happens to be the one with the talent for pain. I will let you go if you tell me what I want to know."

The demon considered. "No. I can't. He would find me, and the things he'll do…" She shuddered. "He'll put me under Alastair again. You can't run from Azazel."

Mary's heart lurched. "Azazel?"

She saw the horror descend over the demon as she realized she had slipped. Black eyes widened and then closed, and her face slackened.

"Who's Azazel?" Mary asked.

The demon looked up imploringly. "You have to let me go now. I've told you enough. I am going to have to run."

Mary looked at Clark, her heart racing in her chest. "What do you think?"

Clark considered a moment, his eyes sparking with amusement. "This is going to take serious thought. I'm not sure if a name is enough to buy freedom. Let's get upstairs and discuss it as a family."

Mary balked at the word family, but she didn't contradict it. She was sure Clark knew he wasn't family; he was just saying it for the sake of the demon, and perhaps to needle her in Dean's absence.

Mary set the cup down on the table again and walked swiftly up the stairs and out of the room to the library, hearing Clark's footsteps on the wooden stairs behind her.

She burst into the library, her eyes wide and heart racing with excitement, and said, "Azazel!"

Dean frowned. "What?"

"The demon's breaking," Clark said, sauntering into the room behind her and stopping to lean against the wall. "We got a name for the yellow-eyed demon. It's Azazel. Heard of it?"

Bobby shook his head. "No, but I've got dozens of books that might have him in them."

"You better get reading then," Clark said. "Have you found anything useful in those journals?"

"Nothing that'll narrow down a location," Bobby said as Dean shook his head. "We've found mentions, but he's more occupied talking about some railroad he was building. Seems it was real important to him."

"Important to him, maybe, not to us," Clark said impatiently, stretching his arms over his head. "Okay. I'm going to crash for a while. I'll come back in the morning. You should all get some sleep, too."

"What about the demon?" Dean asked, looking toward the basement. "We can't just leave it down there."

Clark rolled his eyes. "You worried it will get bored, maybe? Lonely even?"

"No," Dean said through his teeth. "I'm worried it's going to get free and murder us all in our beds."

"It won't," Clark said confidently. "But you can sleep in shifts if it makes you feel better about it. Do what you like. _I _need to drink and sleep."

"You should eat, too," Mary said.

Clark laughed. "Thanks for the tip, _Mom_. I'll make sure to get on that." He lifted a hand in farewell and walked to the door and outside.

They waited in silence until his truck had started and then the sound drew away from the house, and then Mary breathed a sigh of relief.

"How are you doing, Mom?" Dean asked,

Mary was pleased to hear the genuine note of concern in his voice, and she smiled at him. "I'm fine. Good even. We have a name. If he's as big as that demon thinks, he's got to be in one of these books. Maybe if we learned a little more about him…" She trailed off. If they learned more, they would have their first clue about how to protect Sam, but the reason he wanted Sam wasn't going to be in one of those books. That needed to come from a demon which meant she was going to witness more torture.

"It will help," Bobby said confidently. "Now, you need sleep. None of us got any last night. You two crash first and I'll take the first shift watching the demon. I'll wake you when I need to switch off."

"Go to bed, Dean," Mary said gently. "You look exhausted."

"I'll sleep when you do," Dean said.

Mary smiled at his show of concern and said, "I will soon. I just need to unwind a little. You go up. I promise I won't be long behind you."

"That's agreed then," Bobby said gruffly. "Go to bed, Dean."

Dean nodded wearily and marked his place in the book and snapped it closed before getting to his feet and plodding into the hall. They heard him on the stairs and then on the creaking floorboards on the second floor, and Mary sighed. "He's wrecked."

"He is," Bobby agreed. "We all are. There's a lot going on right now. He's worried about his brother. Just like we all are." He dropped his book onto the table and got up and walked into the kitchen. He poured a mug of coffee and carried it back to the desk. "You need sleep," he said pointedly.

"I've got too much coffee in my system to sleep yet. I need a little longer."

Bobby nodded and said, "Then grab a book and get reading." He picked up his own again and fixed his eyes on the spread pages.

Mary watched him for a moment, seeing the tense lines in his brow and the way his lips were downturned at the corners, and she realized he was done processing. He needed to talk now. As little as she wanted to do it, she knew she owed Bobby the chance to vent how he felt.

She dropped into Dean's place on the couch and said, "Say it, Bobby."

Bobby frowned. "Say what?"

Mary sighed. "What you're thinking. I can tell you need to. Tell me how pissed you are."

Bobby set down his book and ran a hand over his face. "I am pissed," he said. "You should have told me what you did. I know I'm not really family, they're your boys not mine, but you and I have been friends a long time and I think I had the right to know what was going on."

"You _are _family. You have been there for us all for years. And you did have the right to know," Mary agreed. "I should have told you, but I couldn't risk Sam and Dean finding out."

"And that's the problem," Bobby said, a bite of anger in his voice. "It's bad enough that you think I wouldn't have kept your secret for you, but you also left them unprotected. I should have known there was a risk of the demon coming."

"I never imagined it would come back," Mary said quickly.

"Which was your mistake. If you'd not been doing your best to forget about what happened, hiding it from me, we might have made the connection between the deal, the dates, the nursery and Sam. If we'd known, we could have protected him better. We didn't tell them a thing about demons because you didn't want them to know, because you were worried they'd find out about your deal, but if they'd known, they would have been able to protect themselves. Sam would have had traps laid in his apartment, salt lines, protective charms. That poor girl might not have died."

Mary flinched. "I know. I hate myself for it."

Bobby didn't give comfort, that wasn't his style, he just said, "Because of you, I let Sam down. I knew how to protect him and I could have if I'd known he needed it. That's what I'm pissed about. You didn't give me a chance to save him from losing Jess."

Mary sagged under the burden of her guilt. She had been so consumed with how she'd let Sam and Dean down that she hadn't really thought about how she'd let Jessica down, too. She could have saved her.

"I don't know what to say," she whispered. "I know I screwed up, and I know what it cost, but I can't change it now. All I can do is try to fix it. But I don't know how. They're never going to forgive me for this."

"Dean will in time. He couldn't hold a grudge if you gave him a bucket, not against you. He's already softening and we both know it."

Mary smiled slightly, reassured that Bobby was seeing what she'd hoped was there, then her smile faded as she thought of her youngest son. "Sam won't though, will he?"

Bobby rubbed his chin. "Honestly, I don't know. Sam feels deeply, he always has. He and Dean both love with everything they have, but they're also very different. Dean can forgive because he loves, whereas Sam will feel more betrayed because of it. Sam is confused right now, he's dealing with a lot. He'll come around in time at least a little. He loves you."

That was what Dean had said, and Mary had been reassured, but she wasn't certain.

"He shut down though, Bobby," she said. "He was completely closed off. Clark says he's not like that now, but that doesn't mean I didn't do it to him. And he's gone. I don't think Dean is going to forgive me for that so easily. We don't know where he is or what he's doing. We can't even call him."

Bobby considered. "No, we can't, but we can talk to him. Have you tried emailing him?"

Mary put her hand to her mouth. "I didn't even think."

"Well let's try." He pulled his laptop to him and flipped it open. He drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for it to load and then huffed a laugh. "He's a step ahead of us. He already emailed me."

Mary sprung up and rushed around the desk to read over his shoulder. It was a curt message, just saying he'd found something they should know about, and a list of ingredients for a hex-bag.

"He's hunting?" Bobby said, confusion in his tone.

"No!" Mary gasped. "He can't."

He wasn't ready. Even if he was completely focused and not still recovering from the fire, he wouldn't be ready to hunt alone. It had been too long, and he'd always taken cases with them. He couldn't be out there on his own. It wasn't safe for him.

"Let's find out," Bobby said. He typed out a quick reply, asking Sam to call them as soon as he could, and then he copied down the ingredients onto a piece of paper. "We need to find out what this is, too." He took a sip of his coffee and picked up his phone. "I guess we just wait."

Mary's heart sank. She was too worried to just wait patiently to talk to Sam. They had to know what he was doing. She stared at the phone in Bobby's hand, willing it to ring, but when it did, she thought she was imagining it.

Bobby answered and put it on speaker before setting it on the table between them. "Sam?"

"_Hey, Bobby."_

"Hey, son. How are you doing?"

"_I'm okay_."

There was something in his tone that sounded wrong to Mary. He wasn't upset or stressed as she's expected. He sounded distracted.

"Where are you?" Bobby asked.

"_I can't tell you that," _Sam said apologetically. _"I'm okay though."_

Bobby sighed. "That email was a little weird. What exactly are you doing with hex-bags?"

"_It's just something I come across, I thought it would help you, too. It should block demons from seeing you."_

Mary gasped. "Demons?"

There was a sharp indrawn breath on the line and Sam said, _"Mom?"_

Mary cursed her slip, scared she might drive Sam away even more and stop him calling if he knew she was listening, but she had to answer. "It's me, honey."

Sam didn't speak. Only the glowing numbers as the phone counting the seconds of the call told her he was still there.

"Are you hunting demons, Sam?" she asked tentatively.

"_What? No. It's just something I found that I thought would help us all. I'm not hunting anything. I'm just doing what I need to do."_

"What do you need to do?" she asked.

There was a long pause and then Sam said, _"I've got to go."_

"No! Wait!" Mary said desperately. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Sam. Don't go yet. Just talk to Bobby. I won't listen, I swear."

"_I'll call again," _Sam said and the call ended.

Mary cursed as she ran a hand over her face. She had driven him away again. She should have stayed silent and let Bobby talk. He might have gotten more from Sam that just those vague answers.

Bobby sighed and snapped his phone closed. "Well, we know he's okay at least," he said. "And he's not hunting."

"But what is he doing?" Mary asked.

"I don't know. I believe him when he says it's not hunting though, so I think we have to leave him to do it. We've spoken to him now, he's said he'll call again, and we have a way to contact him when we need to. Maybe this is for the best."

An idea occurred to Mary and she rushed across the room and grabbed up her phone and said, "Ash! He might be able to trace the email."

"He might," Bobby said thoughtfully. "But that doesn't mean he should. Sam _is_ okay. He obviously feels he needs this space. I think we should respect that."

Mary ignored his words, not wanting to hear them, and dialled Ash's number. As she waited for the call to connect, she reassured herself that she was doing the right thing. If they knew where Sam was, they could check on him, make sure he really was safe. He didn't need to see them. He could have his space, but they would know for sure he was okay.

She wasn't betraying him doing this. She was protecting him.

She was being a mother.

* * *

Sam's confusing evening was quickly forgotten as he walked to the cemetery that night. The call he'd had with Mary and Bobby disappeared from his mind, and he was thinking only of Jessica.

The gates had been closed but there was no place for a lock, so he was able to push them open and enter the cemetery without trouble. He made straight for Jessica's grave, his chest tightening when he didn't see her there waiting for him, but then he heard her calling his name and he spun and saw her standing by the bench they'd sat on the day before.

He broke into a run, flying at her, and when they collided, her running to him, he swept her into his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth, his heart swelling with the love and happiness he felt.

She threw herself into the kiss, and only when Sam pulled back panting did she lean away and look at him. "You shaved."

Sam run a hand over his jaw and said, "It was about time."

She stroked his cheek and said, "You look better."

"You look amazing," Sam said with a soft laugh. "Even more beautiful than before."

She raised an eyebrow. "I do?"

Sam nodded, noticing for the first time what else was different about her from ghosts he'd seen before. They'd all been paler, looking almost faded in their strange afterlife, but Jessica looked as well as she ever had. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. She looked so alive.

Sam supposed it was just another facet of his gift. He could touch and feel her, but he could also _see_ her clearly as she really was not the shape of her that had been left behind. He was glad of it. Like this, it was easy to forget that she was really just a spirit.

Jessica kissed him and whispered against his cheek, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Sam said fervently. "The day seemed to take forever to pass."

"What did you do?" she asked.

"Waited mostly," Sam said. "I spoke to Clark and then solved that problem, and I spoke to Mom and Bobby, but otherwise it was just me waiting for you."

"What problem?" she asked. "And who's Clark?"

Sam felt a lurch in his stomach as he realized he hadn't told her about what he had been doing and what had happened while she was gone. Perhaps he should have, but he wanted his time with her to be about them, not the things that didn't seem to matter now that he was with her.

"It's nothing," he said. "Tell me about you. What did you do today?"

"I was gone most of the day," she said sadly. "I came back around dusk and waited here for you."

"Is it hard to be gone?" Sam asked, his concern making its place on his face and sad eyes.

She shrugged. "It was harder today. I knew you were out there somewhere, and I wanted to be with you, but coming back seemed easier. It's as if the fact I could see you was drawing me here again. I tried to leave, to come find you, but I couldn't open the gates." She frowned. "I couldn't touch them without something happening to me. I can't explain it."

Sam nodded sadly. "They're iron."

Her brow creased. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," Sam said quickly. "It doesn't matter?"

Jessica released him and stepped back, her eyes narrowed. He felt the loss of her touch like pain. "You've never lied to me before, Sam," she said sadly.

Sam's heart sank. She was wrong. He had lied to her for as long as he'd known her. He'd never told her the truth about the world or his unusual upbringing, the fact his family and friends were hunters or that he had been, too.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

"Don't be sorry. Be honest."

Sam bit his lip. He didn't want to have to tell her how much he'd hidden, but he knew it was time he did. She knew enough now with the way she'd died and the fact of her existence as a ghost that she would accept more, but it still might scare her.

"I will tell you," he said slowly. "I'll tell you everything, but it's a long story."

"I have all night to listen."

"I know. I want to try something though. I've been thinking today. I don't know what your limits are, but maybe you can come to my motel with me. That way we never have to be apart."

Her eyes softened and she moved closer to him again, her hand tracing his cheek. "I'd like that. I will go sometimes though. I can't control when I am in the other place."

"I know, but we might have more time," Sam said. "And no one would see you when you're in my room with me."

"We can try," she said. "Where have you been staying? Is it far? I know I can go as far as the Old Rainbow Mart on the corner. It's closed down now, and I sometimes hide inside during the day when my family comes." She looked down at the ground. "When I can anyway, Sometime I have to be here. I can't stay away from them."

"I understand," Sam said, touching her chin and lifting her face to kiss again. "It's not far away. It's the Easy Nites. We can try…"

She smoothed the lines on his forehead with her finger and said, "We can."

Sam took her hand and they walked to the gates together. Sam pulled the gate open wide and waited anxiously as she passed through it, worried she would disappear. She didn't. She was able to step through and onto the sidewalk. She waited for Sam and they linked hands again and walked away from the cemetery to the corner that turned onto the street where Sam's motel was at the end. They were halfway along the street when Sam saw a man walking towards him with a large dog on a leash. Sam glanced at Jessica and murmured, "Do you know him?"

"No," she said quietly, "I think it's okay."

Relived, Sam walked with her towards the man, hoping to be able to pass without comment, but the dog had stopped to lift its leg to a lamppost, and the man watched them approach with a strange look on his face. It was almost disapproving.

When they reached him, he nodded to Sam and said, "Cold night."

"It is," Sam agreed, hurrying his footsteps.

"You look warm enough," the man said, "You friend is probably cold."

Sam realized how they would look, Jessica with her dress and short leather jacket, and him bundled in his winter coat.

"I don't feel the cold," Jessica said brightly.

At the sound of her voice, the dog looked up from the puddle it had been sniffing and its whole stance changed. Its lips curled back in a snarl and it lunged toward Jessica with loud and ferocious barks. Sam quickly stepped in front of Jessica, but the dog was held back by the man's tight grip on the leash.

"Stop, Bruce," he snapped at the dog. "Calm down." He yanked the dog back a few paces and said, "I'm sorry, Miss. He's never like this."

"It's fine," Jessica said. "We should be going."

Sam took her hand and they hurried away, the dog's barks and growls following them.

"That was weird," Jessica said.

"Yeah," Sam said thoughtfully. He'd not heard of it before, but it made sense that the dog was able to sense that Jessica was something different. Animals were sensitive to the supernatural.

They slowed slightly as they reached the parking lot of Sam's motel, and he gripped her hand tighter, worried she would be snatched away and back to the cemetery at any moment. But they reached his door together, and Sam unlocked it and pushed it open with her still with him.

She stepped inside and came to a stop suddenly at line of salt. "Why do you have salt on the floor?" she asked.

"No!" Sam barked. "Don't move!" He stepped quickly around her and bent to brush away the salt, careful not to let it touch her. He didn't know if even such a small amount would banish her, but he didn't want to find out. When the path was clear, he stepped back and said, "Okay. Come in."

Jessica stepped slowly into the room and said, "What was that about?"

Sam sighed. "It was the salt. It banishes ghosts."

Jessica's frown deepened and she said, "Okay. I really need to know now, what are you hiding from me, and how do you know that salt banishes ghosts? And why did you have it?"

Sam sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the spot beside him. She sat down and allowed him to link their hands and touch her cheek. "I will tell you everything," he said. "But you need to let me finish before you judge me for lying. I only hid these things because I wanted to protect you."

She nodded slightly. "Is this about the man that killed me?"

Sam's heart skipped. "You saw him?"

"Of course."

"What did he look like?"

She shrugged. "He was just a man. He was in the shadows, so I didn't get a good look at him, but I saw his eyes. They were…"

"Yellow." Sam supplied, his body tensed with anticipation.

"Yes. Did you see him, too?" she asked eagerly.

"No, but I know about him. Okay. Here goes." He looked into her eyes and said, "Jess, the world is bigger than even you know…"

* * *

**So… They got a name from the demon and Sam is telling Jessica the truth. Long overdue events for all involved. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading. You ladies are the best xxx**

* * *

_**Chapter Eleven**_

Sam took a deep breath as he finished his story of the real world and forced himself to look up from the carpet to Jessica's face.

Her eyes were wide and staring and her lips slightly parted. Sam had scared her, he'd known he would, but he couldn't have hidden it anymore, not when she already knew so much. But he hadn't wanted to do this to her. He remembered how he'd felt when he'd found out the truth of the world. His whole world had been tipped on its head and he'd been terrified. And now he'd done that to Jessica.

He took her hands in his and stroked them with his thumbs. "Don't be scared," he said. "I promise nothing is going to happen to you. I'll protect you."

Jessica huffed a laugh. "Nothing _else_ is going to happen you mean."

A lump formed in Sam's throat. "Yes, nothing else. I'm so sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry. I understand now. And I'm not scared. I'm just shocked. I never imagined this. I thought, okay, I'm a ghost, that's something I knew about at least, people see them all the time, but this is insane! Mary and Dean actually hunt these monsters, and you used to." She shook her head. "I can't wrap my mind around it. It must be so dangerous."

"It is," Sam agreed. "I worry about them a lot. But, Jess, they're amazing at what they do. I only did it for a few years, and I wasn't very good at it, but Mom and Dean, they're naturals. It's their life in a way it was never mine."

"And you _hunted_ ghosts?"

Sam bit his lip. "Sometimes."

"Did you hurt them?"

Sam squeezed her hands. "We didn't hurt them on purpose. In fact, it was the other way around. They were hurting us. Not all ghosts are like you. I've never seen one like you before. These were vengeful spirits, dangerous. They hurt people so we had to stop them."

Jessica licked her lips. "And how do you… stop… a ghost?"

"You don't need to think about that," Sam said quickly. "It's never going to happen to you, I promise."

"Tell me how, Sam?" she insisted.

Sam averted his eyes. "You have to find what tethers them to the world and destroy it. For some it's their remains, for others it something that was special to them when they were alive, a piece of jewelry maybe. You have to salt and burn it. That breaks the connection and they're able to move on."

"You've done that? You made ghosts 'move on'?"

Sam nodded.

"Where do they go?"

Sam flinched. "I don't know. Heaven, I hope. I believe." Sam wasn't sure he was being honest with her. He'd wanted to believe in Heaven. And if Hell was real, which it was, why couldn't Heaven be? But he wasn't sure.

"I don't want to go, Sam," Jessica said quietly.

Sam stroked her face and then kissed her, unable to resist the need. It felt like every touch he had missed while she was gone needed to be used know he could again. And he could tell she needed it as much as he did. She leaned into him.

"It won't happen to you, Jess," he said fervently. "I swear I'll protect you."

"But how can you? If Mary and Dean find out I'm here…"

"They won't. They don't know where I am or why I am here. Clark can't see me anymore either. I have the hex-bag. No one will find out about you. It will just be you and me forever."

She smiled sadly. "Okay, I believe you, but I need to know it all. No more secrets from me, you promise?"

"Yes."

She nodded and seemed to think for a moment before asking, "Who is Clark?"

Sam drew a deep breath and continued his confession. "Clark is a psychic, and he's been training me to use my powers, too."

Jessica frowned. "You have powers?"

Sam spoke in a rush, wanting to get it told quickly, to deal with the shock and move on. "Yes. I am psychic. I have visions of things happening—that's how I knew you were here, I saw you—I can move things with my mind, and I can see memories inside things I touch. Not everything," he said when she looked stricken. "I don't see it from people, but I saw my father when I touched something from when I was a baby, and I saw a man with a special gun when I touched his journal. I can astral project, too. So can Clark. We talk that way. That's why I have the hex-bag. He was able to see me before when he looked. He can't do that anymore. He won't see you."

"That's good," she said slowly. "But what about you? How did I not know you could do this? Why didn't you tell me? I understand you not telling me about that other world, but I would have understood this."

"I didn't know. I didn't have my first vision until just before you died. I was told I always had these powers since I was a baby, but they never presented until I saw you…"

He bit tongue hard, cursing himself for his slip. He hadn't wanted her to know about his first vision, how he'd failed her, but perhaps he should. If there was a time to lay it all bare and tell her everything, this had to be the moment.

"I saw you die," he said, his hands squeezing hers hard as if to keep her from leaving him. "I didn't know it was real, but I dreamed of it for weeks. I saw you on the ceiling and the fire."

Jessica's hands twitched in his but she didn't pull away. She just stared at him, her lips slightly parted and her eyes wide. It took a long time of silence and Sam staring at her, imploring her to understand, before she could speak.

"You saw me die but didn't know it was real?"

Sam nodded eagerly. "It was the first time I'd ever seen anything like it. I thought it was just a nightmare. I didn't know how my father had died. If I had known, I would have seen it was the same and I could have gotten help. I could have been there. I could have—"

Jessica pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. "No, you couldn't. That _demon_ cut me without a knife and pinned me to the ceiling without touching me. All you could have done was die with me."

"He wouldn't have killed me," Sam said. "He wants me for something." He sighed. "We don't know why, but he wants me. That's why it killed you and my dad, to get to me. We thought it was because he wanted my powers, but Clark doesn't think so, and I trust his instincts. It's something else."

For the first time, Jessica looked truly afraid. "It wants you? We have to stop it! It can't take you! I can't lose you again!"

"Shhh," Sam soothed. "It's not going to take me. Mom, Dean and Bobby are looking for a weapon that can kill it."

"What weapon?"

"It's called the Colt, it's a special gun that can kill anything made by Samuel Colt. They have all his old journals and they're looking in them to find where it went after he died. They're all back home in Sioux Falls doing it now."

At least he thought they were. They hadn't been doing anything with journals when he'd seen them in that bar. Clark made it sound like they had some other mission, but he hadn't told Sam what. Perhaps it was time he asked what it was and meant it. Clark wouldn't tell him unless he did.

"But they don't have the gun yet," Jessica said. "So if it comes again, it can take you to do whatever it wants."

"I guess." Sam hadn't really thought of it. He had been consumed with Jessica and his need for her that he hadn't really thought about his own situation.

"Then you have to save yourself," she said. "These powers… You can move things with your mind like he could. You have to do that. If you can make yourself stronger than him, you can fight and win. You can escape and run."

"I can't leave you!" Sam said, stricken.

Jessica gripped his hands hard. "You might have to. If this demon comes, he'll take you. I can handle it if you're gone but alive and free, but I can't bear it if it takes you away from me." She softened. "I'll stay with you as long as I can, and I'll help any way I can, but you have to do this. I need you to protect yourself. You said this Clark was training you, you have to find a way to train yourself. Do it for me, Sam. I need you to learn so you can be safe."

"You'll stay?" Sam asked, a break in his voice.

"I will, I promise, as long as you learn to protect yourself."

"Okay," Sam said, reassured by her promise. He could train himself, he knew what to do now, and she would stay. He would do anything if it meant she would stay.

"Good," Jessica said, beaming at him.

Sam kissed her on the lips, relishing the feel of her and the fact that there were no secrets between then now. It felt better for all of a minute before he realized there was still one secret he was keeping.

"There's something else," he said quietly.

Jessica leaned back and frowned. "What?"

Sam stared into her eyes, willing her to understand and not leave. "After you died, I didn't…" He sucked in a breath. "I didn't grieve. I love you more than anything, but I didn't feel it. I loved you and missed you, but it wasn't like it should have been. I was blocking it somehow. It doesn't mean I didn't care, I swear, but…" His voice broke as he stared at her, waiting for her reaction.

She was silent for a long time and then she smiled slightly and said, "You're psychic, Sam. Did you think that maybe you didn't feel the grief because a part of you knew I wasn't really gone?"

Sam sucked in a breath. He hadn't thought of that even once. He'd been so afraid of his grief, so guilty that it wasn't there, that he'd not thought of how his gift could have affected it. The possibility was incredible, like a breath of clean air after being underwater too long. Maybe he didn't betray her. Maybe it was because, deep down, he knew she was there still.

Jessica grinned at him. "See?"

Sam nodded. "I see."

"So it was okay," she said. "I know how much you love me, and I can see why you didn't feel it." She stroked his face. "And now you never will feel it. I'm here."

Sam kissed her hard on the mouth, letting his relief pour into her as it filled him. He never had to feel it now. The threat of grief had been more potent to him than the threat of The Demon, but now it was gone.

He had her back.

* * *

Dean rubbed a tired hand over his face as he walked into the library. He had slept a long time, but he was still tired as his sleep hadn't been restful. He dreamed of yellow-eyed men and fires, and he'd woken panting many times.

Bobby was sitting at his desk with three books open in front of him but all were going unread as Bobby rubbed at his eyes. Mary was curled on the small couch, fast asleep.

Bobby looked up at Dean and said, "She crashed a few hours ago. I think she's exhausted."

Dean nodded and went to the couch where she lay. He took a wool blanket from the back and laid it over her. While she was sleeping, it was easier for him to forget what she had done. She looked vulnerable and innocent, as if she could never have betrayed him in her life. She became the mother he'd believed in since he was old enough to understand the difference between truth and lies. It was only when she was awake and he could see her guilt that it felt real.

"You should sleep, too, Bobby," he said. "I'll take watch for a while."

Bobby checked his watch and said, "There's no point me sleeping now. I'll get an early night tonight. It's not the first time I've pulled an all-nighter any more than it is for you or you mom."

That was true. Often, they had to stay up all night for cases and hunts. Mary had tried to encourage Dean to sleep at first, preferring to be the one awake, but she'd recently given up on that and accepted that Dean was just as capable of taking the shift in her place.

"I'll make coffee," Dean said, wandering into the kitchen.

He tipped out the dregs of the last pot and rinsed it then poured the water into the tank and put in fresh coffee to brew. He flipped it on and leaned his back against the counter.

Bobby got up from his chair and carried his dirty cup over to the sink. He rubbed his eyes and said. "We spoke to Sam last night."

Dean's heart jumped. "He called? Why didn't you wake me?"

"Because you needed your sleep," Bobby said. "And he wasn't even on the phone a few minutes. He called because we had an email from him that I replied to." Bobby blew out a breath. "He's found a way to block us from demons. It's a hex-bag."

"That's great!" Dean said enthusiastically. If Sam knew about it, he would protect himself, too. Then an idea occurred and his heart sank. "How does he know about hex-bags? He's not hunting, is he?"

"He says he isn't, and I believe him. It's just something he came across. I think maybe he's researching though. I guess there might be stuff online we don't know about. We're always relying on books. If it's out there, Sam's the one that's going to find it. It's good that he's doing something other than just stewing, too. He'll be better off occupied." Bobby fixed his eyes on Dean. "He sounded good, Dean, better than I ever expected even."

Dean frowned. "That doesn't make sense. I'm not good, and it's got to be even harder for him. He's the one that took the full brunt of what Mom did."

"Maybe it does," Bobby said. "It might be that space is what he's needed all this time. He's been under a massive amount of pressure since the fire, and a lot of it came from us and how much we've worried about him. Now he's not surrounded by that all the time, our worry, Clark training him, the danger of the demon, he can get his head on straight again."

Dean didn't want to think that it was space from him that Sam needed, but it did make sense. They had all been adding to the pressure on him, though none of them had intended to, and that had to have been hard for him. In his place, Dean thought he would have wanted to be alone, too, especially after their mother's confession. He wished that Sam could be okay with him still, then he wouldn't worry so much, but he was glad he was doing better at least.

"He really doesn't want to be found though," Bobby went on.

"We knew that already," Dean said.

"Yeah, but now we know more. Your mom had Ash trace the email. At least she had him try. Sam has a VPN set up."

Dean frowned. "He does?"

Bobby ran a hand through his beard, "Well, it's either that or he actually is in Venezuela. I'm guessing not."

Dean sighed. Sam was smart enough to know they were tracing him, that he knew, but now he realized just how ardently he was hiding himself.

Wanting to change the subject and draw his thoughts from his brother, he asked, "Have you found anything in the books?"

Bobby shook his head. "I've been switching between them all night, an hour or demonology and an hour of the journals, but Colt is mainly occupied with that railroad of his, and the demonology I've got is all about the foot soldiers we already know about. There are some heavy-duty books out there, I know, and we've probably got some of them, but I've not found the right one yet. I'm hopeful though. You want to grab a book and help me out, or get us some breakfast?""

"I'll grab a book," Dean said. "Let me just get the coffee."

He turned back to the counter as the pot filled and then poured two mugs of coffee. He carried one to Bobby where he sat at the desk and set it down. As he walked back to the kitchen, Mary stirred and look blearily into the room.

"I'll get you some coffee, Mom," Dean said.

She beamed at him. "Thank you."

She looked inordinately pleased by the offer, and Dean realized it was because he was doing something for her without hostility. He had been trying to do it since they'd had their discussion of what she'd done days ago, but she seemed to appreciate each step he made. She was trying, too, he could tell.

She got up from the couch and said, "I'll just go clean up." She walked into the hall and Dean heard her on the stairs.

"You want to get some breakfast going, too?" Bobby asked. "We might as well start the day since she's awake. I've got waffles in the freezer."

Dean turned the oven on to warm and retrieved the box of Eggoes from the freezer. He laid them out on a tray and put them in the oven as Bobby came into the kitchen and started to set the table. He set down a bottle of orange juice and said, "Clark's on his way," at the same moment Dean heard the pounding bass.

He watched out of the window as Clark pulled his truck to a stop and climbed out. He strode across the yard and out of sight for a moment before pushing open the door and coming in, stinking of whiskey and stale cigarettes.

"Morning," he said brightly. "Didn't expect you to be awake yet. Where's Mother Mary?"

"She's just cleaning up." Bobby said, "You want breakfast? Dean's got waffles heating."

Clark grimaced. "No thanks."

Dean supposed breakfast wasn't a priority when you were as hungover as Clark had to be. The fact he drove here after obviously spending a night drinking bothered him, but he wasn't going to open himself to Clark's scorn by saying anything about it. Knowing him, Clark would come here drunk off his ass next time just to prove a point.

Bobby poured Clark a coffee and handed it over then walked to the desk and picked up a piece of paper. "We heard from Sam yesterday," he said. "He's come up with a hex-bag that he says will block us from demons."

Clark frowned and took the piece of paper. Dean turned away from him and took the tray of waffles from the oven and transferred them to a plate as Mary came into the room and greeted Clark.

Clark grunted in return and then cursed. "Sneaky son-of-a-bitch."

"What?" Mary asked.

Clark flicked the piece of paper. "This hex-bag Sam's come up with. It's got some ingredients in it that would repel a demon, so I'm guessing it would hide him from one, too, but it's also got stuff in there that will hide him from me, too."

"You can't see him anymore?" Mary asked, her brow furrowed and eyes concerned.

"I can see him if he comes into the astral plane to talk, I think, but I can't see him where he is." He shook his head, "How the hell did he figure that out?"

"Why did he figure it out?" Dean asked. "What have you been doing to him that would make him want to hide?"

"You mean apart from spying on him in the shower?" He scoffed. "I've been doing nothing that gives him the right to block himself from me. We had a deal, dammit."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "What deal? You have a deal with us. You were supposed to tell us where he is and what he's doing."

"I told you what I know," Clark growled. "I don't know where he is, and he didn't look like he was doing _anything_. He was just sitting around when I saw him." He shook his head. "I will kick his overgrown ass! Where did he even learn about this?"

"He didn't say," Mary said.

Clark considered. "It wouldn't have been Mosely. She wouldn't do that to us, would she?"

Mary bit her lip. "I don't _think_ so, but she doesn't know what happened with Sam. She might have thought she was helping us."

"But if she knew a way to block you completely, why wouldn't she tell us?" Dean asked. "She only blocked you hearing us."

Clark snorted. "She gave you what she did so I could see you but not eavesdrop. She'd know how to block me. Woman like that has all kinds of knowledge." He pulled a phone from his pocket and dialled then put it to his ear. After a moment he said, "Mosely, it's me. Have you spoken to Sam?" He frowned and said. "Would I be asking if I knew. Mary's big secret dropped and he took off."

Dean scowled. He should have guessed Missouri knew what Mary was hiding, she was a mind reader, but he felt betrayed that she'd kept the secret. She was his friend. Why did she value Mary's privacy more than Dean and Sam's need to know?

"He's got a hex-bag that's blocking me. Yeah, its…" Clark read from the list. "Obsidian, anise, cubeb, motherwort. A whole bunch of things. He thinks it will block demons, too, which is great, but I can't see him now. Can you get some of your ghostly pals to look?" He frowned. "No, this isn't me calling in my deal. Don't even think it. This is about finding Sam for your friends." He huffed a laugh. "The shit. Yeah, thanks anyway. I'll let them know." He ended the call and raked a hand through his long hair.

"What did she say?" Mary asked.

"We're not finding him anytime soon," Clark said. "He's blocked himself from me, demons, _and _ghosts. None of Missouri's spirit friends are getting close to him thanks to that bag." He shrugged. "He's smarter that I thought."

There was a beat of silence in which Dean concentrated on calming himself and not exploding at the idea that had occurred to him. If Clark was upset that he couldn't see Sam now and was trying to send Missouri's spirits to find him, did that mean he'd not been trying to find him at all before?

"Have you known where he is all along?" he asked in a tone of forced calm.

"No," Clark said neutrally. "But he was at least supposed to let me see him. Oh well. I guess he's safer at least if demons can't find him."

"Which is great," Dean said. "But if this bag fails and he's hurt or taken, we won't know without you seeing him."

"We can if he lets me," Clark pointed out, pulling back a chair and flopping into it. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes and then became almost perfectly still. He was gone less than a minute, not long enough for him to have spoken to Sam, before his eyes opened and he said, "He's probably sleeping."

"Or he's hiding," Bobby said.

"Or that," Clark agreed, sounding perfectly at ease.

Dean hated him and his happiness. This was a disaster for them protecting Sam, and Clark seemed unconcerned. If he cared about Sam as he said he did, he would be bothered that they had lost their ability to contact him.

Clark gave him a strange look. "Something on your mind, Dean?" he asked. "Anything you're _feeling_ that you'd like to get off your chest?"

"No," Dean said curtly.

Clark grinned and got to his feet. "Good. I'll leave you all to enjoy your breakfast. I've got a demon to interrogate."

Mary made to followed but he shook his head. "You'd do better to hang around here and read with these two. You got what you could out of the demon yesterday. She's not going to be fooled again."

He strode out of the room and Mary said, "We should eat and then get to work. Clark's right. I'm no help with the demon now."

Bobby sighed and picked up the plate of waffles from the counter. "They're cold, but they're food," he said.

Mary poured them each a glass of juice and Dean sat down. He reached out to pick up a waffle with his fork and then froze as the scream of pain echoed up from the basement.

A new day of interrogation had started.

* * *

**So… Jessica now knows it all and Sam is going to work on his powers with her. Some fun times to come. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading. Thank you all for reading xxx**

* * *

_**Chapter Twelve **_

Sam wasn't aware of falling asleep, but when he drifted back to consciousness, he was lying on top of the bedclothes, his head resting on the pillows and his coat laid over him. He blinked drowsily, enjoying the feeling of contentment he had, and then he rolled over, looking for the source of it.

"Jess?"

There was no answering voice, no face to greet him. He was alone in the room. He bolted upright and flung himself off of the bed. He spun on his heel, taking in the room, but she was nowhere in sight. He checked the small bathroom and found it empty. Desperate, he even checked behind the shower curtain.

His heart raced and his breaths came quick. They had come here so she could stay. She didn't have to leave him anymore, but she was gone. Why had she gone? In his overwrought state, he forgot what she had said about being lost in the 'other place' and the way she would find herself in the cemetery again. He only knew she wasn't there.

For a long moment, he just stood useless in the middle of the room, lost in his confusion, and then the last of the sleep cloud lifted from him and sense returned. She _had _said this might happen. She'd been unable to make any guarantee of whether she could stay. She'd done the opposite even, reminding him that she would go. It was devastating, but he knew it wasn't the end. She would come back, and if she didn't, he would go to her.

He could go to her now!

With a wave of relief, Sam realized he could find her if he wanted, just to check where she was. He sat himself on the edge of the bed and concentrated on his breathing. He was still agitated from the shock of waking without her, but he eventually managed it and his breaths slowed. His felt the tingle on his arm before he rose up out of himself, leaving his physical body behind. He fixed Jessica's face in his mind and felt himself being drawn away from his motel room and across buildings and streets to the cemetery. Recognising where he was, he breathed a sigh of relief at the thought that he could just come find her here and looked around.

He was directly over her grave, but there was no sign of Jessica. It was early and the cemetery was empty of all but the groundskeeper who was collecting dead flowers from graves. Sam turned, taking in the cemetery, and then drifted to the tree he'd seen Jessica hiding behind before. She wasn't there. Someone was though. He felt a presence joining him, and he felt himself being quickly dragged back to his body. He snapped back into himself and looked around, hoping it was Jessica returning to him, but he was still sitting alone in his bedroom. The feeling of being watched was still there though, and he guessed it was Clark looking for him.

Thinking it was better to get it over with and to check Clark really couldn't see into his room, he drew himself up and out of his body again and found himself in a vast empty space with Clark standing across from him. The air around them stretched into what felt like infinity, and the floor beneath them was shrouded by a thick mist that hid their feet. Sam was discomforted by the place, but Clark seemed perfectly at ease, though there was something not quite right. When Sam scrutinized him closely, he saw that Clark's eyes were tight with the annoyance Sam seen when he had been struggling to master telekinesis.

"Hey," Sam said.

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Hey? Really, Sam, you block me from seeing you, and you think 'hey' is the way to go?"

Sam shrugged. "I needed privacy."

"And the fact we had a deal means nothing? You agreed to meet me every day, to let me see that you were okay, and now I have to lurk here waiting for you to come."

"How long have you waited?" Sam asked.

Clark sighed. "Not long. What were you doing?"

"Sleeping," Sam lied. "I just woke up and felt you watching. I came straight away."

Clark narrowed his eyes and looked Sam up and down. "Okay. I guess I get it. How did you find the ingredients for that hex-bag though?"

"I thought I should bulk up the demon protections and found some stuff online. When I went looking for ingredients, I found an expert. They hooked me up with something stronger. When they said it would block you, too, I went with it. I do need privacy sometimes."

He was only lying a little, and he thought Clark wouldn't be able to tell. Sam had never seen an aura in the astral plane before, and he didn't think Clark would be able to either.

"You can't need all that much privacy," Clark said, smirking. "What else are you up to?"

"Just stuff," Sam said vaguely. "I've been busy."

That much was true. He'd been busy with Jessica and he had spent the night before he'd fallen asleep training with his telekinesis. It was harder than he'd thought it would be, the additional grip he'd managed when going against the poltergeist hadn't emerged, and he'd been in pain after, but Jessica's encouragement had kept him trying. She really wanted him to master it and protect himself.

"You're not the only one," Clark said. "Things at the House of Singer have been ticking over at speed. All kinds of fun stuff happening there."

"What things?"

Clark surveyed him for a moment. "Do you really want to know now?"

"Yes. I do."

Clark nodded. "I think you do. You're a little more focused today. Well, we've been questioning a demon about you and your mom's deal. We've got one locked down in the basement and it's been reasonably chatty with the right motivation. We've got a name for the yellow-eyed demon that wants you. It's called Azazel."

Sam barely heard the rest of his words past the part about questioning a demon. From what Clark had told him about what had led him to be jailed, he thought he knew how they'd been making the demon talk.

"You've been torturing someone because of me?"

Clark nodded. "Yep, technically it's a demon, but the screams sound human. Your mom got in on the act, too. She's quite the motivator."

Sam's mouth dropped open. "Mom's been torturing someone?"

"That depends on your definition of torture, I guess. She's the one that got the name at least."

Sam drew away from him, horrified by what he was hearing. His mother was torturing people. He couldn't imagine it. He didn't want to. She protected people, not hurt them. She saved lives. How could she let herself do that?

"You seem surprised," Clark said, a smile hovering at the corners of his lips. "I thought you would have understood that Momma Bear would step up for you. She's got a lot to make up for after all."

Sam shook his head jerkily. "Not like that."

Clark shrugged. "I guess she disagrees."

Sam needed to stop it. He needed to stop her, stop them all. "I've got to go," he said.

Clark looked smug. "Of course you do. You're busy after all. I'll speak to you soon, Sam."

There was something about the way he said it that made Sam sure he knew exactly why Sam needed to go and what he would be doing next.

Sam withdrew back into his body and drew a deep breath. The lead in his gut that he had not been able to feel outside of himself was heavy now and his heart raced. His mother was doing _that_! He had to stop it now.

He picked up his cell phone and checked his number was blocked before dialling Dean's number from memory. It was picked up after only two rings, and Dean said. _"Sammy?" _eagerly.

"It's me. I spoke to Clark," he said. "He told me about the demon."

"_Yeah," _Dean sighed. _"He's called Azazel. We're researching the name now."_

"That's not what I meant. I'm talking about how you got the information. Are you really torturing someone for it?"

There was a long pause before Dean spoke again, and Sam's heart ratcheted up another level. _"Clark is doing it really."_

"He said Mom got the name from it."

"_She did, but…" _He seemed unable to find the words.

"Is she there?" Sam asked.

"_Yeah, you want me to put you on speaker?"_ he asked hopefully.

"Yes."

There were distant voices on the line and then he heard his mother's voice, sounding cautious, as if wary of scaring him away. _"Sam, honey, are you okay?"_

"I'm fine," Sam said then launched into his question. "Are you torturing people, Mom?"

He heard a deep sigh and then his mother said, _"It's not like you're imagining. I'm just helping."_

Sam closed his eyes and absorbed the shock. How could this have happened? What had he done by leaving?

"Don't do it, Mom," he said, pleading in his voice. "Please. Don't change who you are because of me. None of you. This isn't right. We'll find out what we need to know some other way. Don't do that."

"_This is what we have to do to protect you, Sam," _she said. _"And I will do whatever it takes to do that. For you and Dean, I will do anything. I'm your mother."_

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "I get that, Mom, really, I do. I would do anything for you guys, too, but this is wrong."

He heard her draw a shaky breath and when she spoke, he thought there were tears in her voice. _"Come home, Sam. Please. I'm sorry for what I did, but if you were here, we could make things right together, as a family."_

"I can't," Sam said heavily. "I'm sorry, but I can't leave. I need to be here."

"_Where are you?"_ she asked.

"I can't tell you that. I'm safe though. I'm doing what I need to do."

"_Sam, please…"_

"I'll call you soon," Sam said, needing to get off the phone before her desperation made him feel worse than he already did.

"_I love you, Sam, so much. We all do."_

"Bye." Sam ended the call and lowered the phone to his lap.

He felt worse for talking to her. He hadn't stopped her doing what she was doing, and now he knew the voice of her need for him to come home. He still loved his mother, all of his family, and he would be with them if he could, but Jessica needed him more.

He understood why Mary had kept her deal a secret now as he was seeing it wasn't so different to what he was doing hiding Jessica from them. He was doing it to protect the woman he loved, and Mary had done it to protect him and Dean as well as herself. She had been scared she'd lose them the same way he was scared he'd lose Jessica. He couldn't judge her too harshly for that, though she should have told them all about the possible demon threat. They could have protected themselves. Jess need not have died at all.

He shook off the thought. It was too late to change it now, and Jessica was with him again. He would call more often, let them know he was okay, but he wouldn't go home.

Jessica needed him here. And what she wanted was for him to be able to protect himself.

He moved a pillow into the middle of the bed and sat down on the chair at the table. Until she came back, he was going to get to work training himself. Jessica wanted him to do this, he needed to do it for himself and his family, so he would dedicate himself to it until she was back and he could lose himself in her.

* * *

**So… Now Sam knows what they're doing and he's not happy. The phone call with Mary was a little different originally. Sam was more forgiving, but VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan pointed out that he wouldn't be in a forgiving place yet, so I toned it down. I think it's more believable now. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xx**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading.**

**Heart's Desire: As soon as I have a chapter beta'd, I'll post. Sorry for the wait xxx**

* * *

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

Jessica pushed open the door of the diner and inhaled the smells of cooking that made her stomach growl with hunger. She hadn't eaten since the previous day, and that had been a sandwich grabbed from a gas station before she'd got back to her motel to crash. Sam was getting more and more needy lately, and she found it harder to slip away. Other than the times he crashed exhausted, he was a light sleeper and it was hard for her to creep out. The only good thing was that he'd cleared away the salt lines so she didn't have to worry about disturbing them when she came and went.

She went in and looked around, searching for the familiar face she was due to meet. She'd not spoken to him since she'd signed up for the assignment shortly before Jessica Moore had roasted on the ceiling, and all her instructions had come via text. The last message she'd gotten had asked her to be here to report in person, and she was hoping to get some answers as well as offloading her information.

The man she was looking for wasn't there, though. She sighed and figured she was going to have to wait for him to come, cutting into the time she would have to sleep before getting back to Sam. A man at the far back if the room raised a hand to her, though, and gestured her over. As Jessica approached, she realized who it was.

"Brady," she sighed, slipping into the booth opposite him. "What are you doing here? I thought I was seeing the boss."

"He has bigger concerns that listening to you," Brady said. "Besides, who do you think sent you the message asking you to come? Can you really imagine _him_ sending a text?"

Jessica considered. "I guess not, and I didn't have a goblet of blood handy. When will I see him though? There are things we need to talk about."

Brady held up a hand to her and turned to smile at the waitress who came to their table. She looked to be in her forties and her eyes were weary. Jessica thought she was unused to the night shift. The women she usually saw when she ate here in the dead of night seemed better equipped to handle the hours.

"What can I get you guys?" she asked, her pen poised over the notepad.

"Just coffee, please," Brady said.

"Sure thing. And you?"

"Double cheeseburger and fries and a chocolate milkshake. Actually, make that two burgers and extra fries."

The waitress raised an eyebrow as she jotted down the order. "I'll get your drinks."

Jessica thanked her and they watched her walked away before speaking.

"That's not a characteristic meal for Jessica Moore," Brady chastised her. "You're drawing attention to yourself."

"I'm hungry. It's not like ghosts snack, and I think I'm risking more notice walking around wearing a dead girl's face than I am by eating too much."

"True," Brady said thoughtfully. "Which is why this is the best meeting place. You're far enough out of the city to be unknown."

"Duh," Jessica said scathingly. "She never came here before, and nor does anyone she knows. Small town diners never attracted Jessica, and she never stayed in a motel in her life. She was strictly a fancy hotel girl. That family has _money_."

"And you will soon, too," Brady assured her. "Which is why I am here. I want to know you've been earning what we're paying you."

Jessica pointed a finger at him. "I've not been paid a cent yet, and I've been living like this for months. I should at least get a deposit. This is costing me."

"It's costing you nothing you don't usually pay out. You would need somewhere to stay even if you hadn't taken this job, you would need gas for that junker of yours, and you would need to eat. You'll get paid when the job is done. Now, tell me what's happened."

Jessica started to answer, to add to her complaints, but the waitress came back with their drinks, and she thanked her and then slurped her milkshake while Brady watched impatiently.

"Well?" Brady pressed.

Jessica sighed. "He's doing better with the telekinesis. He's got the strength, now he's practicing precision. His astral projection is basically mastered. He talks to that friend of his on the other plane every day."

"That's not interesting," Brady said. "We already have one that is an advanced telekinetic, and astral projection serves no purpose to us at all. What else?"

"Not much. He's not tapped into any memories from things he's touched that he's mentioned, and nothing special has happened in front of me. I would notice."

"Not strength or compulsion?"

Jessica frowned. "Compulsion? How does that work?"

"We have twins that have presented with the ability to compel people to do their will with vocal commands. One is doing better than the other; Azazel believes he will be able to do it without words soon."

"Cool," Jessica said. "I haven't seen any sign of that in Sam, although, to be honest, he's not really talking to anyone but me. He's a little obsessed." She grimaced. "He only really deals with other people when he's paying for more nights in the motel or ordering food. Honestly, he's pretty much a mess. He's a junkie for me and training. I've got him convinced I need him to learn this stuff to protect himself, and he's taking it to a whole other level." She batted her lashes. "He'll do anything for his Jess."

Brady snorted. "I remember. Watching them together got pretty nauseating. It was a relief to roast her on the ceiling."

"For you," Jessica pointed out. "I'm the one that got a head full of painful memories from it. Though the shock she felt when you started in on her was pretty funny."

"Yes. That was special." He shook his head briskly. "Back on task. Have you seen particular strength from him?"

Jessica opened her mouth to answer and then snapped it closed and smiled as her meal arrived. It was more of a platter than a plate, and it was loaded with food that made her mouth water. The waitress smiled at her and then walked away, and Jessica stuffed a handful of fries in her mouth then dumped ketchup over the others.

Brady's nose wrinkled with distaste. "You're an animal."

"Look who's talking," Jessica said. "Demons aren't exactly pure." She took a bite of her burger a moaned. "I _needed _this."

"Strength," Brady prompted.

Jessica chewed and swallowed then asked, "Is super strength really a thing?"

"Apparently so. One of them has presented with it anyway. It's not the most useful power to have, but it's not really about the power, is it? It's about the winner. It will give him an advantage on the battlefield when it's time."

Jessica scowled. "If there's still a battlefield, what am I doing wasting my time with Sam? If the boss wants him, why is he bothering with the others at all?"

"For the same reason he is dosing other babies right now. He wants a selection so the right one is found. Sam is his favorite, he has the potential he was born with and the training as a hunter, but he's not the only one Azazel is watching. He would be stupid to rely on one of them alone."

Jessica took another large bite of her burger and looked away. She was irritated. She was being paid well for what she was doing, at least she would be when it was time, but her assignment was frustrating. She was sick of playing the part of the perfect girlfriend back from the dead, of being so in love with Sam every moment they were together. Her annoyance burst out of her in a tirade of anger.

"I am sick of this! I want more money."

"You're getting what was agreed on," Brady said firmly.

"I didn't know what I was agreeing to! Do you have any idea what it's like to be around him? He's always pawing at me and telling me how much he loves me." She shuddered, nauseated. "I have to take care of him when he burns out using his powers too much, and I have to listen to him wax lyrical over how happy he is to be with me again." She drew a heaving breath. "I am sick of being hungry and snatching sleep in a crappy motel when _he finally _crashes because he doesn't want to 'miss a moment' with me. I'm done creeping around the cemetery, waiting for him to come looking for me to take me 'home' again. I'm sick of… everything!"

Brady let her rant come to a close and then he sipped his coffee, perfectly at ease, and said, "It's too late to back out now. You took the job. Unless you want to spend the rest of your time running from Azazel, you will stay with Sam and deal with these petty annoyances until we tell you to stop." He sighed. "It won't be forever. Azazel says things are going better this time than with the last generation. He gave a larger dose of blood to these and none of them are sickening. He thinks these can handle the powers."

Jessica narrowed her eyes. "Sickening?"

"The last generation died," Brady said dismissively. "Their bodies couldn't handle what they were doing. Well, some of them couldn't. He dosed the ones that survived but there were… complications. That generation are all dead now."

"What complications?" Jessica asked curiously.

"None of your business."

Jessica stuffed another handful of fries in her mouth and let the stream of curses she wanted to unleash on him pass through her thoughts instead of her lips. She thought she had already pushed him as hard as she could. Brady was a loser as a human, but the demon that had his body was smart. More importantly, he was one of Azazel's lieutenants, so she needed to be wary with him.

"Is he speaking to his family?" he asked.

"Yeah, all the time. They're getting more and more pushy about knowing where he is, I think they can hear what a mess he is when they speak to him, but they haven't got a chance of finding him."

"Do you know what they're doing?"

Jessica raised an eyebrow. "Don't you already know? I thought you had his mom and brother on the payroll, too. Didn't you sign up a couple of my relatives to get the download?"

"We do, but they aren't as cooperative as you. They _say _the connection is weaker for them, that they aren't getting the full download, but Azazel doesn't believe them. They're being re-educated right now." There was both annoyance and threat in his tone.

"That's a pretty big problem for _you._" Jessica laughed. "I know _exactly_ what they're doing, and I am going to want a raise for telling you."

She raised an eyebrow and Brady nodded slightly. "I will pass along the request, but I think if you're right that it's worth one, Azazel will reimburse you. Or, of course, we can re-educate you, too."

Jessica held back a shudder at the threat. "They are looking for information about the Colt. They have some demon that they're torturing and a stack of Samuel Colt's old journals that they're scouring for leads on where he stashed it before he died."

Brady's eyes widened. "You didn't think to mention this before?"

"I figured you already knew. You do have Mary and Dean replicas after all, and they're the ones with the connection." She smiled smugly. "So, is it that enough for a raise?"

Brady nodded vaguely. "Yes, I imagine it is. I need to go. Azazel needs to hear this." He got to his feet.

"He's not had a vision lately, either," Jessica said. "He's going to notice that's weird eventually. The regular ones are probably being missed since he's obsessed with me and training, but he's going to wonder why Azazel has stopped attacking his friends.

Brady nodded. "I'll suggest it. Perhaps it would be good to see him active in the field alone." He thanked her vaguely and walked away.

Jessica watch him go and chuckled. It felt good to be the one with the right information, and she was pretty sure this was going to get her credit with the boss which would hopefully be transformed into a raise.

It also served her. If the Winchesters did manage to get hold of the Colt, they might be able to actually use it on Azazel, and that would be her payday cancelled. She had suffered this form for weeks alone, and now days of Sam's constant _affection_. She was doing it for money, and she was going to make damn sure she was paid for it.

She took another bite of burger and then stopped mid-chew. Brady had dumped her without paying the bill. The least he could have done was pay for his coffee.

Demons really were assholes.

**So… What do you think? I have been looking forward to writing this chapter since the story began, but I wanted it to be the right time. It was a lot of fun to finally get there and to enjoy Jessica's POV. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading. Thank you all for reading xxx**

* * *

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

Bobby was on the verge of wakefulness, drifting and thinking. It was his turn to sleep right through as Mary and Dean were taking the night watch over the demon, but he couldn't quite let go and rest.

So much had happened over the last few weeks, mostly good things. Mary was happier since she'd first spoken to Sam when he'd called them about what they were doing with the demon, and that had grown with each call he made. They'd had no breakthrough about Azazel's origins or history, but they were working the problem together. Clark was still questioning the demon every day, and though they'd heard nothing new, it didn't feel like a defeat. He was sure she was going to break soon, and Bobby had enough faith in Clark's abilities and history to believe it.

Dean was happy, too. His birthday had gone largely uncelebrated, but they'd all taken a break that evening to watch a movie and have a few beers together. Dean's happiness largely came from the fact Sam sent him an animated card through email on the day of his birthday. They hadn't expected anything, not even a call, as Dean shared his birthday with Jessica, and that had to be a hard day for him to get through.

The only fly in the ointment was the way Sam sounded when he made his occasional calls. They all heard it; he was distracted, not all the way with them when he spoke. It made Mary press him more to tell them where he was and what he was doing, but Sam invariably ended the call when she pushed too hard.

They got reassurances from Clark when they spoke, as he was seeing Sam every day and he was able to get a better read on Sam's state than they could with a phone call. He said Sam was training his powers still, and that gave them all some comfort. If he was doing that, he wasn't doing anything stupid like trying to hunt. In his time, Sam had been good, and he could have been great with guidance and experience, like his brother was now, but hunting had never been for him. He was bound for different things.

Bobby started to drift again, sleep coming for him, and then he was ripped away by the sound of his cell phone ringing. He rolled over and picked it up from the table. The number was blocked, and though he'd only received one call from him personally, he thought it was Sam. It was late, but they didn't know where in the country Sam was or which time zone he was in.

He connected the call and sat up and brought the phone to his ear. "Sam?"

"_Bobby! You have to help him!" _Sam panted. _"They're coming. They could be there now."_

Surmising that he'd had another vision, Bobby quickly got up and began to drag on clothes, tucking the phone under his chin as he did. "What did you see, Sam?"

"_Dean! They're coming for Dean!"_

Bobby stopped, his pants pooled around his knees, and said, "What?"

"_Dean!"_ Sam shouted._ "They're coming to hurt him. You have to go now!"_

"I'm going," Bobby said curtly, dropping the phone down onto the bed and yanking up his pants as he stumbled towards the door. As he pounded down the stairs, he buttoned them and raced into the hall. He had taken one step towards the library when something slammed into him from behind. He crumped to the floor, his hands trapped under him as he tried to break his fall, and he felt pain in his side as something collided with him, stunning him for a moment.

"Stop!" a male shouted. "We've got to go!"

"Do you know what they did to me here?" a female voice asked that Bobby recognised as the demon they'd had trapped in the basement. "I've been here weeks!"

"I don't care," the rough-voiced male said. "There's still the woman. Run, now. We're done. The fire is lit."

Bobby felt a heavy weight on his back as someone stepped on him, and the air was forced from his lungs, making his head swim, and then there was the sound of racing footsteps on the hardwood floor of the library and the slamming of a door.

Before he'd even managed to draw a breath, Bobby scrambled to his feet and raced into the library, his first breath used to shout for Mary. He didn't know what they meant by fire, but if the place was going up, they all needed to be out.

The first thing he saw when he got into the library was Dean crumpled on floor just in front of the desk, and the first thing he felt was a wave of heat. He ran to Dean and dropped down beside him, shouting Mary's name again as he got his arms under Dean's shoulders and started to lift him.

"Fire," Dean said drowsily. "Stop the fire."

Sense caught up to Bobby. Dean wasn't in immediate danger with whatever injury he had, he was semi-conscious, but if the house was on fire, they were all in trouble. He jumped to his feet and spun on his heel, looking for the source of the heat. The room looked fine, nothing was blazing apart from a fire in the hearth.

"Where's the fire, Dean?" he asked. "Did you see?"

"The books," Dean said, his voice a little stronger now.

Bobby looked into the fireplace again and realized it wasn't the logs burning that he'd laid the night before for Dean to light if he needed, it was books. A pile of them were being eaten by the flames. Though he knew what that meant, he was more concerned with Dean.

He returned his attention to Dean and said, "Lie still, son. I'm calling an ambulance." His voice rose to a shout again. "Mary!"

"No ambulance," Dean said, struggling to his feet. "The fire."

He scrambled to his feet and swayed, gripping the desk for support, and then staggered around it and reached into the fire.

"No!"

Bobby rushed towards him, grabbing at his hand before he could burn it, but Dean already had the covers of two books in his hand, pulling them out of flames and dropping them onto the floor. He stamped out the flames and swayed again. Bobby pulled out his chair and pushed Dean into it then lifted his face so he could look into his eyes. His pupils looked normal but he was pale.

"Do you feel sick? Dizzy?"

"I'm fine," Dean growled. "Get the damn books."

"They're already gone," Bobby said, holding two fingers in front of Dean's face. "How many fingers?"

"Two," Dean sighed. "I'm okay."

Bobby ran a hand over Dean's head, checking for wounds, but there was just an egg-sized lump on the back of his head that made him feel only a little better. If the swelling was on the outside, it was better. It meant it wasn't going in instead.

"Do you want an ambulance or are you good for me to drive you to the hospital?" he asked.

"I don't need a hospital," Dean said.

"Hospital!" Mary rushed into the room, her eyes wide and panicked as they settled on Dean in the chair and half-dressed Bobby bowed over him. "What happened?"

She raced towards them and Bobby stepped back to allow her access to her son. She cupped his face in her hand and looked him over.

"Are you okay? What happened?" she asked again.

"I'm okay," Dean said, showing more patience with her than he had with Bobby. "They burned the books though."

"Never mind the books," Bobby said gruffly. "Or Clark's freed pet. We've got more important things to worry about."

"We need to get you to a hospital," Mary said. "Can you drive, Bobby?"

Dean pulled back from her and said, "I don't need a hospital, Mom. They didn't even knock me all of the way out. I was just stunned a minute. It was a demon. They caught me when I was going to check what the noise was and then grabbed all the books, the journals, and threw them in the fire. I only got two out."

Mary looked at Bobby. "What do you think?"

"He's got a helluva lump, but his pupils are okay. Do you feel sick or dizzy, Dean?"

"No," Dean huffed. "I've not got a concussion. I've barely got a headache. I'm just pissed. How did they get in?"

Bobby walked to the door and saw the rug had been pulled back and the edges of the devil's trap had been burned away as if by acid. It had eaten though the thick layer of varnish Bobby had coated the trap with and to the paint beneath. He marvelled at the ingenuity of it. They couldn't have scratched away the trap without touching it, but they could easily spray or pour something over it if they were careful.

"Did you hear them breaking in?" Dean asked. "Is that what woke you?"

"Sam!" Bobby gasped. "He called! He's probably still on the phone."

He dashed out of the room and up the stairs to his bedroom. His phone was still on the bed and the screen was lit with the still-connected call.

He brought it to his ear and said, "Sam, he's okay."

"_Are you sure?"_ Sam asked urgently. _"They really hit him."_

"He's up and talking. He doesn't want to go to hospital though."

"_He damn well will,_" Sam growled. _"Let me talk to him."_

"Have you seen something else?" Bobby asked, his chest tightening with worry. "Is he in trouble?"

"_I've not seen anything, but he needs to get checked out."_

"Well I think you're the only one he's going to listen to," Bobby said. "I'll get him the phone. Hang tight a minute."

He stuffed his feet into his boots that were beside the bed, grabbed his shirt, and then carried the phone down to the library where Mary was fussing over Dean, trying to press an icepack to his head, and handed Dean the phone and said, "It's Sam."

Dean took the phone and said, "Sammy? I'm fine." He listened for a moment and frowned. "No, man. I don't need it. It's just a bump." He rolled his eyes. "Then it obviously looked worse than it was."

"Listen to your brother, Dean," Mary advised, using Dean's distraction to press the icepack to the back of his head and run a finger across his eyeline.

Dean sighed heavily. "Seriously, Sam? You're going to guilt trip me about Mom? That's low coming from you. Where are you, by the way?"

Bobby chuckled. He thought Sam was being pretty sneaky, but he could tell it was working. Dean wouldn't want to hurt Mary, no matter what residual anger he felt towards her for what she'd done.

His belief was confirmed when Dean sighed again and said, "Sure. I'll go waste their time. I'll call you when I get back. What's your number?"

Sam obviously answered as Dean said, "Fine. Watch all you like. You're going to be bored though. All we're going to be doing is waiting around for someone to tell us what _I_ already know. I'm fine and it's a waste of time going, but if it will make _you _feel better, I'll do it." He snorted. "Yeah, yeah. You, too, bitch." He ended the call and handed the phone back to Bobby.

"We're getting you checked out?" Bobby asked, trying not to smile.

"Yeah. I don't feel like I have a choice. He might have taken off without a word or address, but he can pull the guilt trip with the best of them."

Mary stroked his cheek and smiled fondly. "That's because he loves you, just like we do."

"I know," Dean sighed. "We might as well go. There's a chair in the ER waiting to hold me for a few hours of nothing."

Mary held his arm as he got to his feet and he allowed her to lead him to the door. Bobby hesitated a moment before following them into the kitchen and filling a pitcher with water. He poured it over the ashes of the books in the grate, sighing to himself at the loss and what it meant for them, before setting down the pitcher and pulling on his shirt and coat before following them out to the car. He was going to see Dean was checked out thoroughly and then, when they were back, they could deal with the fallout of the demon's visit.

* * *

When they got back to the house after hours at the hospital in which Dean was examined, scanned and declared to have a mild concussion, Clark's truck was parked outside and the door was hanging open.

Bobby realized their mistake in not calling him sooner, and he thought that they were going to deal with his hostility even more now for the oversight.

They filed into the house and Mary directed Dean to a chair at the table and got him a glass of juice from the refrigerator while Bobby walked into the library to see Clark sitting on the couch with his leg crossed and his ankle resting on his knee and his face stony.

"Run out of firewood, did you?" he asked acerbically.

"It was a demon," Bobby said. "It sprung the one from the basement, too."

"And burned the books," Clark said, getting to his feet and walking to the cabinet where Bobby kept his whiskey and glasses. He poured himself a measure, sipped it then set it down roughly and said, "I thought this place was protected!"

"It is," Bobby said. "They burned the trap at the door with something like acid."

"They did the same in the basement," Clark said. "Nothing left but some cut ropes, busted handcuffs and a hole in the floorboards." He glowered at Bobby. "And you didn't think to call me because…?"

"We had to get Dean to a hospital," Mary said. "They knocked him out."

Clark walked through to the kitchen and gave Dean a look of false concern. "Are you okay, buttercup? Did the nasty demon hurt you?"

"That's enough!" Bobby snapped. "You're disappointed, I get that, we all are, but you're in our house now and while you're here, you'll treat us with respect."

Clark looked angry for a moment and then he sighed and said, "Yeah. Okay. But how the hell did this happen?"

"It's fairly simple," Mary said, glaring at him. "They broke the trap, attacked my son, burned the books and journals, freed the demon, and left. We're lucky it wasn't worse than it was. Dean could have been killed."

"And I'm glad he wasn't," Clark said, almost convincingly. "But how did they even know to come in the first place? How did they know about the pet in the basement and the journals? It's not likely they would just come for fun, not a place with this 'protection'. Did someone talk?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. "None of us would. What about you?"

Clark snorted. "Sure, I called all my demon buddies. Since I've been hunting them for over twenty years, I've made so many friends among them. It wasn't me."

"And it wasn't us," Bobby said, crossing his arms over his chest. "And it doesn't matter. It's happened now. And we got off lucky. It could have been much worse. If Sam hadn't seen it coming and told me, they could have killed Dean on the way out of the door."

"How did you stop them?" Clark asked.

"Honestly, I didn't," Bobby said. "The one we had in the basement got a couple licks in on me before the other told her they had to go. They knew Mary was here, too."

"You didn't say you were hurt," Dean said with a frown. "Why weren't you getting checked out with me?"

"Because it's not that bad. I'm going to have a couple bruises and a boot mark on my back, but I got off lucky. That one we had in the basement was _pissed._"

"I'll bet she was," Dean said. "We've been torturing her for weeks. We're lucky she didn't kill us all."

Clark nodded and then huffed a laugh. "Fine! I get it. You want to talk. Try using a phone next time."

"What…?" Bobby started, but before he could finish the question, Clark had drawn a deep breath and stilled, his chest only barely moving. "I guess Sam is here," he said.

Mary nodded. "I wish he really was."

"We all do," Dean said. "At least he can watch us. I guess that's better than not having any connection at all."

They'd decided to leave Sam open to seeing and hearing them by not using his ingredients to make hex-bags for themselves as they wanted Sam to see what was happening. It wouldn't have made any difference to what happened to Dean, they would have known where to come anyway, though it might have slowed them down a little.

Clark came back to himself after only a minute and said, "Go on then. Click your heels together, Dorothy. Come on home."

"He's coming home?" Mary asked hopefully.

"To a fashion. At least he will he if _concentrates._ Come on, Sam. Singer's not getting any younger."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked.

In answer, Clark grinned and pointed at the doorway where the air was shimmering as if in a heat haze. As Bobby concentrated, a shadow blocked the view of the door and a shape formed. It was Sam.

"Concentrate," Clark said again, and then grinned. "About time too."

"Sam!" Mary clapped her hand to her chest and moved towards her son where he stood in the center of the broken devil's trap. She reached out to touch him, and Clark snorted.

"He's not learned to teleport, Mary," he said. "He's not really here. His body is still wherever it is he's hiding. This is just his astral self. Say hello, Sammy."

Sam looked from face to face, settling on Dean, and said, "How are you feeling?"

Dean seemed too stunned to answer at first, faced with his brother for the first time in weeks, and then he cleared his throat and said, "I'm fine. You?"

"I'm good," Sam said with a brief smile.

What was strange to Bobby was that he believed him. Sam did look good. Though his face was slightly blurred—a result of inexperience presenting himself like this, Bobby thought—he looked happy, happier than he had since the summer before the fire.

"It's good to see you, boy," Bobby said.

Sam smiled slightly. "You too." His eyes fell on his mother, and though a small frown creased his brow, he still looked happy. "All of you."

Mary pressed her hand to her mouth and then reached for Sam as if she wanted to touch him, even though it was impossible.

"As nice as this family reunion is, we've got bigger issues," Clark said. "All the books and journals are now gone, which means we have no way of finding where the Colt ended up and we're a lot more limited now on finding out who Azazel really is."

"Not all the books," Dean said, and Clark's eyes snapped to him. "I got couple out of the fire."

"Why the hell didn't you say that sooner?" Clark asked.

Bobby walked across the library and picked up the charred books from the floor where they'd been left and forgotten in the face of Dean's injury. "These aren't going to be much use, Dean," he said apologetically. "You did good getting them out, but…" He set them down on the table, ashes dropping from their burned pages. Only half of the cover was intact, and the pages inside would be useless.

Clark cursed. "Good job, Dean. If only you'd gotten there a little sooner, we could have maybe had something that was readable."

"Give it a rest, Clark," Sam said. "They're not useless. See if you can get a read on them."

Mary's mouth dropped open and Dean said, "Yes!"

Clark shrugged and picked up one of the books. "There's something here," he said. "Let's take a look."

He closed his eyes and became still. He was breathing deeper than he did when astral projecting, but it was still eerie. People weren't supposed to look like that.

He opened his eyes after only a moment and said, "That was really helpful. Who wants a rundown on how Colt talks to his horse while he's grooming it? It's called Julius, in case you were wondering."

"Try again," Sam commanded.

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Or you could come do it yourself. Give me an address, I'll come pick you up."

"Just do it," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

Clark dropped the book down on the table and picked up the second. He closed his eyes again and they all watched him, waiting for him to come back with another acerbic remark. He didn't though. This time he stayed gone a long time, and when he became animated again, it was with a careful smile.

"Anyone know someone called Elkins?" he asked.

Mary gasped. "Yes! Daniel Elkins. He was a young hunter in my father's time. Does he have it?"

"Maybe," Clark said carefully. "I saw him in a saloon talking to a man called Elkins about some railroad he had built. They were talking about whether it would keep 'it' safe."

"Yeah, he's mentioned that railroad in the journals," Dean said. "We don't know what it was about though. It was like he was talking in code even when he was just writing for himself."

Clark dismissed his words with a wave and said, "What matters is the part the gun plays in it. Colt said it's the only thing that would open it, and that it had to be kept safe. Elkins said he would keep it safe for him, make it a legacy."

"It's not exactly an address," Bobby said thoughtfully. "This happened well over a century ago, after all."

"You're right," Clark said sarcastically. "It's probably nothing. We'll check the other journals and see if he gives coordinates. Oh, wait! We can't because they all burned! This is the closest thing to a breakthrough we've had since we started looking for the gun, and it's the last breakthrough we're getting from Colt himself. We have nothing else."

"Where is he now, Mom?" Sam asked.

Mary shook her head slowly. "I have no idea. He lived on the road when I knew him, hunting vampires. They were his speciality. I never heard anything about him after I left the life behind. He could be dead for all I know."

"Or he could be alive and cleaning the Colt right now," Clark said. "We need to track him down. Get the phones going. Ask your genius friend. Ask _all_ your friends. We need to know where he is."

Sam nodded eagerly, and Mary picked up her phone from the table and dialled. After a moment, she greeted Bill and began to question him. Dean was on his feet and going for him own phone, and Bobby took his own and dialled Jim Murphy's number. It rang for a long time before it was answered by a woman. _"Pastor Murphy's house. May I help you?"_

"Yeah, I need to speak to Jim," Bobby said.

"_He's at church right now," _the woman said._ "I am just making the coffee for after the service. Can I tell him you called?" _

"Yeah. Tell him it's Bobby Singer and it's urgent."

"_Bobby Singer." _The way she said it slowly and carefully made Bobby think she was writing it down. _"I've got it. I'll tell him you— Oh, here he is. One moment please."_

There was a muffled voice, as if the receiver was covered, and then Jim came on the line. _"Bobby, is everything okay?"_

Bobby launched into his question without answering Jim's. "Do you know a hunter called Daniel Elkins? We need to track him down. It's important."

"_Elkins… Oh. The vampire man. Of course. I haven't seen him in a long time, but I know of him."_

"Do you know if he has a base?" Bobby asked. "We need to find him."

"_I'm afraid not. I'm not even sure if he's alive anymore."_

Bobby cursed then apologized, knowing Jim's thoughts on profanities. "Can you give me anything?"

"_Not myself, but I can put calls out and see if anything comes up. Can you tell me why you need him?"_

Bobby considered a moment and then said, "We've located a big nest that we could use his expertise for."

"_I'll see what I can do,"_ Jim said. _"I need to go now. I have an army of parishioners waiting for their coffee and some of Mae's pound cake. I will make the calls as soon as I am able and be in touch when I know something._"

"Thank you, Jim," Bobby said. "We really appreciate this."

"_Of course. Take care of yourselves. Send my love to Mary and the boys. Tell them they should visit soon. It's been a long time._"

"I will. Bye Jim." He ended the call and rubbed a hand over his face as Mary and Dean each ended their own calls with shakes of their heads and disappointed expressions.

"Well?" Clark said curtly. "What do you know?"

"Jim knows of him. He's going to make some calls."

"Let's hope he dials fast," Clark said. "We need to track him down before he knows we're coming and runs."

"You think he'd run?" Sam asked.

Clark raised an eyebrow. "If you had a gun that could kill _anything_ and people you've never met started asking for you, would you ride up and start talking family history?"

"But how would Elkins figure we know about him having the gun?" Bobby said. "I told Jim it was about a vampire nest. Why wouldn't he believe it?"

"_Because _he has the gun," Clark said with exasperation. "If it did go down the line to him, it's not only powerful, it's a legacy. He's going to defend that and he's going to be suspicious. I would be. I'd lock myself away in a cabin somewhere and spend my time etching protections into the walls and laying traps."

"You think?" Sam asked cautiously.

Clark nodded. "I do. If he does have the gun, it's going to take more than a simple request for him to hand it over." He looked at Mary. "It's probably going to get bloody."

"No!" Sam said. "We're not killing someone for this."

Clark looked amused. "Really, Sam? You've got some other way to defend yourself from The Demon?"

"No, but we're not killing someone to protect me."

Clark shrugged. "If you say so."

Bobby's eyes found Mary and she nodded slightly. Bobby thought he knew what she was thinking as she'd already said it once. There was nothing she wouldn't do to protect Sam and Dean, and if it did get bad for them to get the Colt, she was going to do whatever it took.

Bobby didn't want to hurt anyone, not even for this, but want didn't really come into it with family. It was about need, and they needed Sam to be safe.

He would do what he had to do, too.

* * *

**So… The journals are gone but they have the name Elkins to work with now. And Sam has a new trick. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading. You ladies are awesome xxx**

**Just a head's up. There will be no story following the already written fourth instalment of For Your Life. I had a fifth outlined and a sixth and final planned, but the readership had dropped dramatically for this series recently and reviews have dropped even lower. Though 100 of you read the last chapter, only four of you reviewed – and two of those came from Shadow and NC who had already read the chapter once. I don't write for the reviews, I write for the love of it, but it's disheartening to know something you put so much of yourself into is being so poorly received and I'd rather use my time and energy creating something you're going to enjoy.**

* * *

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

Sam's attention was fixed wholly on the chair that was on the opposite side of the table, his mind reaching for it with all his concentration. He didn't feel Jessica's hand on his back or her thumb rubbing circles on the nape of his neck. He was in what Clark called 'the zone'.

Slowly, the chair pulled back from the table and lifted a few inches into the air. Sam huffed out a strained breath and narrowed his eyes, trying to find the right balance.

The tip of one leg of the chair touched the floor and Sam circled a hand in the air, pleased when the chair started to rotate, balanced on one leg. He breathed in slowly as he started to speed it up until it was spinning fast, and then, with one harsh gasp and spike of pain in his head, his hold dropped and the chair fell backwards on the floor. He became aware of more than himself again, feeling Jessica's hand on his back and feeling his sharp breaths moving his lungs.

"You did it!" Jessica said. "Baby, you did it!"

Sam grinned and leaned against her. "I did."

Jessica pulled him to his feet and slammed her lips against his. Sam returned the kiss feverishly, feeling the same pleasure and passion in and for her that he always did and feeling it returned.

"You're amazing," she said, pulling back, her eyes alight with happiness.

Sam grinned. "It's you. I never had this much control before."

"It's practice," she disagreed.

"No," Sam said. "It's you. You make me stronger just being here. You give me a reason to do it. I am learning for you."

Jessica stroked his face. "That makes me happy. I need you to learn. You have to be able to protect yourself. I can't lose you."

"You won't." He hugged her to him and buried his face in her hair. "I'll never leave you."

"And I won't leave you," she promised. "We're always going to be together."

Sam straightened up and stared into her eyes. "We are."

He meant it. He knew staying with Jessica meant sacrifice, he couldn't see his family properly, and that hurt him, but it was outweighed by the fact of her. Jessica was the one he needed. Though when he'd dreamed of Dean being hurt the night before, he'd had a temporary weakness in which he had decided to go home to be with them. It was only Jessica's presence at his side when he'd come back from the house in his astral self that he'd realized it was impossible.

Seeing Dean hurt had scared him more than he had been since the night Jessica died. He had been so far away, unable to do a thing to help apart from send someone else to save him, and the moment between making the call to Bobby, the person he trusted most to save Dean, and the call being answered had been hell. He had waited on the line, listening hard for any sign of what was happening, and his heart had only seemed to beat again when he'd heard his voice and his reassurances that Dean was okay.

He had stayed with them, watching unseen, as they took Dean to the hospital and he'd been checked out, more aware of his tenuous astral presence there than ever before. When Clark had told him he could be there with them, seen but untouched, he had been overwhelmed. It had been hard, but with Clark's instructions to concentrate and his own need, he had managed it and that had been a huge relief. He'd been able to speak to them, to see into Dean's eyes as he'd asked if he was okay, and that had been everything he'd needed in that moment.

And they'd had a breakthrough. They knew the Colt had been with someone called Elkins all those years ago, and that there was a hunter with the same name in their time. If they were right that he had it now, it was within reach. All Sam had to do now was make sure that it was taken from him without bloodshed. As much as he wanted The Demon dead, he didn't want it to come at the cost of someone else's life. He wasn't worth that.

"Do you want to try again?" Jessica asked.

"Yes."

He was tired and his head was aching dully, but he was enthused. Also, he wanted to please Jessica. The happiness she felt when he succeeded was almost as potent a drug to him as her presence in his life was. He was hopelessly addicted to her, and he knew it. It didn't feel wrong though. He was still taking care of himself—she made sure he ate and rested when he needed to—and he was still in contact with his family. He'd spoken to Clark that afternoon, hearing that there was no breakthrough with finding Elkins but that Dean was okay—though that news had been imparted with a dose of ridicule. He was doing what he needed to do for them all.

He sat down again and fixed his eye on the chair, starting to lift it and set it down on its legs again. He was almost done when he felt a spike of pain in his head and a flash of sensation prickled his scarred arm.

He gasped and Jessica placed a hand on his face. "What is it?"

"Vision," Sam said, his voice sounding distant to his ears.

"What is it?"

"I don't know yet. I have to look."

"Then look," Jessica urged.

Sam nodded and concentrated on his breaths, allowing himself to sink into the vision. As he was awake and calm, he expected it to be a mere flash of someone else's life, and he was unsurprised when he found himself in Scotty's, watching people milling around the room and hearing the jukebox playing a song by Classic that had always been a favorite of Luis. Sam scanned the room, seeing the faces he recognised as friends, acquaintances and the people he had seen in the bar before but never spoken to. It seemed a regular evening, and no sense of impending doom or danger told him otherwise.

Zach drew his attention, standing up from a table of his fellow law school students, said his goodbyes and made his way to the door. Sure it was him that he was here to see, Sam followed him out into the early evening air and down the street. He felt the draw to follow, and he didn't resist. He wondered what he was going to see, where Zach was going and what he was going to do.

As they drew closer to campus, a feeling of something being wrong settled over Sam, making his eyes sharper as he looked around for an unseen danger.

The clocktower chimed six o'clock, and Zach looked up at it, not seeing the van that turned the corner toward him, but Sam did. It was black and there were scratched away words that he couldn't make out on the side. Zach looked around as the van skidded to a halt beside him, and he took three steps back, half turned to run, when the door swung open and a man ran out and towards him.

Zach started running, but the man chased him and punched him on the back of the neck, making Zach sprawl forward. Before he could hit the ground, the man caught him and dragged him back toward the van. With one hand holding Zach up by the back of his jacket, he opened the side door of the van and shoved Zach inside then slammed it closed. He jumped in behind the wheel again and screeched away.

Sam stood watching it for a second before he was back in his room and breathing hard through the pain in his head.

"What happened?" Jessica asked. "What did you see?"

"Zach," Sam said weakly. "He's in trouble. I think it was a demon. It was strong enough to hold him with one hand. I have to go."

"Go where?" Jessica asked.

"Palo Alto." Sam checked his watch. It was past four. He wouldn't make it in time to stop it.

"What are you going to do?" Jessica asked as Sam grabbed his coat and pulled it on, grabbing his laptop bag and stuffing in the cans of salt he had on the counter and his replenished flask of holy water.

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "Exorcize it I guess."

Jessica bit her lip. "This is dangerous, Sam. You should call your family."

"They're in Sioux Falls. They won't make it in time. I can't stop him getting taken, but I can stop him being killed. I hope. I have to go." He stared into her eyes and said fervently, "I love you."

"Be careful," Jessica said.

"I will."

He yanked open the door and flew outside, feeling like he was leaving part of himself behind.

He stopped on the edge of the parking lot and looked around. He needed a car. He would steal one but he had no idea how to. He'd never done it before in his life. He thought Dean knew how, as Bobby had taught him more than the moral skills of a hunter that Mary imparted, but Sam had never learned. He needed to find another way. The only people he knew in town that he thought might lend him one were Jessica's parents, and that was a risk. If they called Mary and told him where he was, she and Dean would be here within days, faster if they flew. He couldn't leave to hide from them again as Jessica was here.

It was a risk he had to take though. Zach was in trouble.

He ran into town and hailed a cab that was passing. It stopped and Sam threw himself in and gave the address.

"You in a hurry?" the middle-aged cabbie asked.

"Yes," Sam said breathlessly. "The faster you get me there, the more I'll pay."

"Sure thing, son."

The cab pulled away from the sidewalk and into the stream of traffic. Sam pulled out his phone and dialled The Roadhouse from memory, hoping he'd gotten it right. It rang for a long time, and he'd almost given up when he heard Jo's voice_, "Roadhouse."_

"Jo, it's Sam. I need to talk to Ash. It's urgent."

"_Sam! Where are you? Ash said you'd taken off and your mom and Dean were worried."_

"I can't talk about that now, Jo," Sam said. "I need to talk to Ash."

"_Okay."_ There was the muffled sound of her speaking through a covered receiver and then Ash drawled a greeting.

"Ash, I need you to do something for me," Sam said. "Find a cell number for Zach Warren and track it for me. It will be in Palo Alto right now, but I need to know where it is in two hours. He's a student at Stanford. Hack the student files. Do whatever it takes. I need to know where that phone is."

"_Zach Warren. Sure, okay," _Ash said. _"You okay, Sam?"_

"I will be," Sam said. "Oh! And look for demon signs in the area."

"_You're hunting?"_ Ash asked cautiously.

"I'm not sure what I'm doing," Sam said. "Call me when you find him."

He ended the call and tucked the phone back in his pocket and drummed his fingers against his knees as the cab pulled off of the busy street and into Jessica's old neighbourhood.

"Demons, huh?" the cabbie asked.

"It's code," Sam said. "I'm doing a scavenger hunt with my fraternity and our team is very competitive."

"Ah, okay. That sounds like fun. Good luck."

Sam mumbled thanks and watched the houses whip past, hoping no one was out cycling on the streets as the cab was driving fast and wouldn't be able to stop in a hurry. So consumed with his need to save Zach, he didn't think to tell the cabbie to slow down.

"Here!" he said roughly when the house was in sight. He pulled bills out of his pocket and passed them through to the driver, barely glancing at them.

He was satisfied that it was enough when the cabbie said, "Thanks, kid."

Sam threw himself out of the cab and ran up the drive to the house. Both Michael and Elizabeth's cars were parked outside the garage and lights were burning in the window. Sam felt a wave of relief; he didn't know what he would have done if they weren't home.

He banged on the door with his fist, calling for them to answer, and when the door swung open and a cautious looking Michael appeared, he sucked in a shaking breath and said, "I need help."

Michael's eyebrows reached for his hairline. "Sam! Are you okay? I didn't know you were here."

"I need a car," Sam said in a rush. "I can't stay and I can't explain. This is important. _Please_!"

Michael stared into his eyes for a moment and then he nodded and reached back inside and picked up a set of keys. "Take my car," he said. "It has a full tank of gas."

"Thank you," Sam said breathlessly, grabbing the keys and running to the car.

Michael followed him out and called after him as Sam yanked open the door of the Mercedes and threw himself inside. "When you come back, we're going to talk about this, Sam," he said.

"Yeah," Sam said vaguely slamming the door closed behind him and gunning the engine.

He was risking everything doing this, his ability to conceal himself from his family, his life, even Jessica's presence, but he had to do it. Zach's life was the one in real danger, and Sam had to save him. Ash was going to call them and tell them where Sam was, and now he'd let Michael see him, they'd surely call Mary to check on him, but this was more important. He would deal with the rest later.

He had to save Zach now.

* * *

Mary took the pot-roast from the over and set it down on the cast iron stand on the counter. She took off the lid and leaned away from the steam that billowed up.

"Smells good, Mom," Dean said, coming to stand beside her.

Mary smiled. "I think so, too. Set the table and I'll get it ready."

Dean grabbed cutlery from the drawer and began to lay them at each place on the table as Mary eased the roast onto a wooden board and began to carve.

"Bobby, Clark," she called. "It's almost done."

Dean grumbled and Mary heard enough to know it was his discontent at Clark's presence. She knew he was unhappy he was still there without a demon to interrogate. Clark wanted to be on hand when they got the call about Elkins though, and Mary understood that. She wanted him close so they could act at a moment's notice, and she also wanted him there if he spoke to Sam again. If Sam came, they could ask him, through Clark, to come speak to them as he had before. She needed Clark to be there, Dean needed him gone, so she was willing to referee their skirmishes for as long as it might take for Dean to realize how essential was to keep Clark close.

Bobby came into the kitchen and began to fill a bowl with bread as Mary opened the back door to see Clark leaning against the rail, smoking and staring out at the yard. "Lunch, Clark," she said.

Clark drew once more on his cigarette them stamped it out in the flowerpot of sand Bobby insisted that he used and came in. "What's for dinner, Mom?" he asked.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Try asking with the right name, and I'll answer," she said.

"Or you could use your eyes," Dean said tonelessly. "It's about ready."

Clark laughed. "Just making conversation, _Dean_. Manners and all that."

Mary was on the point of speaking when her cell phone rang and she set down the knife to answer, seeing the caller ID and feeling a flicker of hope that it would be good news. It was Ash and they'd set him to searching for Elkins, too.

"Ash, have you got something?" she asked in lieu of a greeting.

"_Yeah, I've got something,"_ Ash said cautiously. _"But it's not that Elkins guy. It's Sam."_

Mary's heart skipped. "Sam?"

"_Yeah, he called._"

"Is he okay?" she asked.

Dean tugged the phone out of her hand and put it on speaker. "What's going on Ash?" he asked.

"_Oh, hey, Dean. Yeah, uh, Sam called. He's in Palo Alto, or heading that way at least."_

"What's he doing there?" Bobby asked.

Mary didn't care why he was there, though she supposed it made sense for him to return to the place that had been his home with Jessica when he left his home with them. What worried her was what he was calling Ash for.

"What did he want from you, Ash?" she asked.

"_He wanted me to find and track a number for someone called Zach Warren."_

"He's one of Sam's college buddies," Dean said, relief in his tone. "He probably just wants to talk to him, That's good. He drifted away from most of them after the fire."

"_Yeah, but he didn't sound like he just wanted to see an old friend when he called. He was upset, and…"_

"And what?" Bobby said gruffly.

"_And he was asking about demon signs there."_

Mary gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth. If Sam was looking for demons, it meant he was in trouble, or was soon to be in trouble. Had he had a vision?

Bobby walked away and grabbed his laptop and booted it up as Dean cursed.

"_I don't know what's going on," _Ash said. _"He wanted me to call him with the information, but his number was blocked. I guess he forgot. I'm hoping he'll call back. I've been sitting on the phone since."_

"But you found Zach?" Dean asked.

"_Yeah, he's in a bar called Scotty's. The signal hasn't moved since I found it." _

"But it will," Mary said weakly. "Okay, Ash, we've got to move. Call us if you hear from Sam again. Call us if _anything _happens. And tell Sam to call us."

"_Sure thing."_

Mary ended the call and said, "We need a flight, Bobby."

"Working on it," Bobby said, tapping the table impatiently as his welcome screen loaded.

"Find him, Clark," Dean said harshly.

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Want to try a please?"

"Please, Clark," Mary said. "We need to know where he is."

"If he's going after demons, he's not going to be astral projecting right now to talk to me," Clark said. "I've got no more chance of finding him than you."

"Try," she begged.

Clark sighed and then drew a breath and stilled. He was gone less than thirty seconds before opening his eyes and saying. "He's got the hex-bag with him, and he's not coming to me."

"More bad news," Bobby said, his voice strained. "There's been some sort of attack on air traffic control. No flights are going anywhere any time soon. We're not getting to him in a hurry."

Mary drew a shaky breath. "What do we do?"

"We drive," Clark said.

"It will take days!" Dean groaned.

Clark glowered at him. "It will take a day if we drive in shifts. Less if we drive fast. It's the best way. We can wait and hope the flight ban lifts, or we can get off our asses and go get him." He fixed his eyes on Mary. "Look, we don't have any way that will be faster. You can call your friends, see if there's someone closer that can go in and help him, but you're going to need to be there, too. Grab your crap and go!"

"You're coming," Bobby asked him as grabbed blankets and a couple water jugs for each of the cars.

"Yes," Clark said. "If it's demons he's after, you need me." He smiled grimly. "Maybe we can grab ourselves a new pet to question while we're there."

Mary nodded as she turned off the oven and grabbed the keys to the jeep from the hook by the door. "Clark, you're with me. Dean, Bobby, you follow."

"I can drive myself," Clark said.

"And who's going to spell you at the wheel?" Dean asked as he dumped road food into two bags and shoved one at Clark. "Don't be stupid. Just get in the damn car." He grabbed the key to the Impala and led Bobby out of the door.

Mary followed and raced to the Jeep and threw the keys to Clark who had followed her. "You take first shift. I'm going to be making calls."

Clark threw himself in behind the wheel and brought the engine to life, reversing away from the house before Mary had her door closed. She snapped on her seatbelt then scrolled through her contacts. She was going to call every hunter she had in her book and pray someone was close to California.

Sam needed help more than ever, and she couldn't reach him. She had to trust in someone else to do what she couldn't.

She had to trust them to save her son.

* * *

**So... They know where Sam is now. We're getting closer to the end, so things will pick up as we charge towards the finish line. Brace yourselves. **

**Until next time...**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	16. Chapter 16

**Thank you so much ShadowHuntingDauntlessDemigod for sharing you beta skills with me. Thank you also VegasGranny for your time, patience and kindness in helping me craft this story to its best possible version.**

**I know I have readers from all over the world - *waves to Tunisia* - and I was wondering if any of you are on lockdown or self isolating at the moment. If you are, drop me a PM/Review as I have something I'd like to offer you. **

* * *

_**Chapter Sixteen **_

When Sam reached the outskirts of Palo Alto and still hadn't received a call from Ash, he slowed slightly and dialled the Roadhouse.

Ash answered at once in a stressed voice. _"Roadhouse?"_

"Have you got the number?"

"_Sam, man, thank god. You had your number blocked so I couldn't call you back. Yeah, I've got it and I got the signal. He just moved. He was near campus and now he's in some place called West Point Harbor. I can't work out what's there as the map I've found online just shows an abandoned space with a few old huts."_

Sam searched his memory and then said, "Yeah, I know it. There's a development there now. They're rebuilding the area. Are there demon signs?"

"_Hell yeah there are, and they're focused. There's an electrical storm pretty much right over the harbor. There's something nasty there, Sam. You should wait for help."_

"There is no help," Sam said. "I'm on my own."

There was a long pause and then Ash said, _"Look, man, I'm sorry but I put a call in to your mom. I think they're on their way to you now."_

Sam's heart sank, though he wasn't particularly surprised. He'd expected it even. Ash knew Mary and Dean better than he knew him, and it made sense that they would have put word out that they were looking for Sam. They were coming, but they were coming to the wrong place. If Sam could deal with this fast and get back to Sacramento, they would come to Palo Alto looking and not find him. Perhaps there was a chance, the smallest chance, that they would find him gone and go back home then. He doubted it, but he was doing the right thing coming here, and he would deal with the consequences of that after. Whatever happened next, he would protect Jessica.

"They won't be here in time," Sam said. "Even flying will take hours."

"They're not flying," Ash said. "There's been some kind of attack on air traffic control. Flights are grounded."

"Even better," Sam muttered. If they were driving, they would not be there for days. He turned off the highway onto the smaller road that would lead him to the harbor and raised his voice. "Thanks for this, Ash. I appreciate it."

"_You want to keep me on the line?"_ Ash asked hopefully. _"I might be able to help."_

"I'm there now," Sam said. "I've got to go."

He ended the call before Ash could say anything else and pulled the car to a stop at the edge of the site. It was bigger than he remembered, and there were buildings in various states of construction. Sam grabbed his laptop bag and took out the salt and holy water. He wasn't sure what good the salt would be, but he was taking it in case. The only other weapons he had were the carefully memorized Latin and his powers. If he could just hold the demon long enough to get the exorcism out, he might have a chance of beating it. He just hoped he was in time to save Zach.

He got out of the car and looked around, wondering where to start looking. He was walking towards the first building, planning to search them one by one, when an idea occurred to him. He could look and be unseen if he was careful.

He leaned against the car and closed his eyes then drifted upwards from his body. It was easier than it had ever been before as he was so practiced now and the need to do it was greater. He fixed Zach's face in his mind and allowed it to draw him close. As he drifted over the site, he paid attention to the places he was passing, wanting to be able to use the route again.

He came to a stop on the edge of the water where a one-story but large building was with holes where windows and doors would be but a full roof. He went down and inside and saw Zach. He was lying unconscious on the concrete floor beside a pile of bricks with a bloody wound on his temple. The man Sam had seen in his vision was standing over him, his eyes the pure black of a demon. He had a knife in his hand and he was tapping it against his leg. It looked as though he was waiting for something, and Sam suspected he knew what it was: him.

Sam withdrew into his body and took a breath as his head cleared, and then he started towards the waterfront.

He saw the building Zach was being kept in and he uncapped the holy water and gripped it in his hand. He didn't think he would manage stealth, so he went with speed. He ran forward and through the doorless space into the building. The room he came into was vast, and he was far from Zach and the demon. Without breaking pace, he ran at the demon with his flask held ready to attack.

The demon laughed at him, showing no concern as Sam approached. With an almost lazy movement, he threw his knife, and Sam stalled as his flung out a hand and held back the knife with his power. It stopped a few feet from him, hovered in the air for a moment, and then dropped to the floor. Sam kicked it away and turned back to the demon in time to see him running at him with a brick in his hand. Sam made a grab for it but he was too slow, and it hit him square on center of his forehead, stunning him for a moment and making warm blood flow down his face.

The demon laughed again. "Regretting coming?" he asked.

Sam swept the flask through the air, splashing the demon with the holy water. The demon's skin hissed and smoked as he backed away. Sam reached for him both with his hands and mind and caught the demon without touching him before he could get more than a few paces back.

"Neat trick," the demon snarled. "Want to see what I can do?"

He threw out a hand, and Sam felt a shove against his chest but he was able to keep himself grounded in place.

The demon looked stunned. "How did you do that?" it asked.

"I'm special," Sam growled.

"So were the others," the demon said. "But they couldn't do that."

Sam wanted to know what he meant by others, he was sure it was important, but he knew there was something more important than knowing. He held the demon around the throat with his power and began to recite the Latin he'd learned. _"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…"_

The demon's eyes widened and his face jerked with a spasm. Sam held him fast and concentrated on enunciating the words carefully as Bobby said they needed to.

The demon struggled against the hold of his power, but Sam had him. His head was pounding, both from the injury and the pressure of using his ability as it was being fought, but he held on and spoke the last words triumphantly. _"Te rogamus, audi nos!"_

The demon's head flew back and black smoke poured from its mouth and into the air. Sam stumbled away from it, fearful of attack, but it funnelled out of the man and disappeared.

Feeling weak, his headache building, Sam staggered away from the feebly stirring man the demon had just left towards Zach. He fell to his knees beside him and shook his shoulder. "Zach, wake up. You're okay."

"What happened?" a weak voice asked behind him.

Sam ignored the confused inquiries from the man that had been possessed and pinched Zach's earlobe. "Wake up, man!"

Zach's eyes fluttered and looked up him. "Sam? What happened?" He raised a hand to his bloody head and winced then said, "I'm bleeding. So are you. What happened to us?"

"Lay still," Sam said. "I'm calling an ambulance."

He wanted Zach to be checked out as his uneven pupils made him sure the head injury was more serious than it looked, and the man that had been possessed might need help, too. He would make the call and then get out of there. He didn't want to be slowed down by a stay in a hospital, too. He needed to get back to Jessica.

He dialled 911 and when it was connected, he started to speak, noting the waver in his voice and the way his vision swam. "I'm at the West Point Harbor development," he said, his voice weak to his own ears. "I need an ambulance. Someone has been…" He trailed off as a wave of lethargy swept over him and he tried to force the words out. "Someone had been attacked. He's got a head injury, and—"

His words failed as a curtain of darkness swept over him and he pitched forward. He heard someone saying his name from a distance, but he was unconscious before he could answer.

* * *

**So… How was that? I liked being able to have Sam take on a demon solo at last, but it was a challenge not to make him the canon hero and instead scared but determined. Did I pull it off?**

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	17. Chapter 17

**Thank you so much ShadowHuntingDauntlessDemigod for beta'ing and Ncsupnatfan and VegasGranny for pre-reading.**

**This time I have an ask for you to go with your chapter. I am now on 12 week self-isolation to protect myself as a vulnerable group. I'm struggling a little already, so I was wondering if any of you have any fic recs for me. If you do, and I sincerely hope you do, drop them to me in a review/PM. Also, if you enjoy the chapter or have thoughts on it, please review. I have lost WiFi and only have access of my laptop thanks to a lovely neighbour but can't watch my TV streaming services so I'm stuck with recorded and DVDs which I don't have many of thanks to the advent of streaming services. Review really do mean a lot to me and I love hearing from you. Anything you can give, review or rec, would be most appreciated. **

* * *

_**Chapter Seventeen**_

Sam's eyes were filled with the view of a white ceiling and his ears with voices, footsteps and something being rolled with a squeaky wheel that made his aching head pound. He puzzled over it for a moment before turning his head on the pillow and looking around. He was in a small room with white walls, a window covered with a slatted blind, and a second bed where a familiar person reclined with his eyes closed. Zach.

The memories of how he'd come to be here rushed at him: the vision, Michael, the demon, the brick, Zach. It all came together to tell a complicated tale that made him groan. It was a mistake. The sound reached Zach who opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Sam.

"Oh, hey," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Got a hell of a headache," Sam said. "You?"

"Right there with you," Zach said. "Luckily it wasn't worse. I think that's down to you. You saved me, right? The cops thought it was you anyway."

Sam's hands clenched into nervous fists. "The cops were here?"

"Well, yeah. They came with the ambulance. They arrested that crazy goth guy. They'll be back soon. They'll want your statement." He frowned. "What were you doing there anyway? I thought you'd gone home."

Before Sam could think of a lie to answer with, the door opened and a man in green scrubs came in clutching a clipboard. "Ah, Mr. Winchester. You're awake. I'm Doctor White. How are you feeling?"

Sam shuffled up the a little higher, realizing that his shirt and boots were gone, though he was still his jeans. He looked around for a sign of the rest of his stuff, but they were nowhere in sight. That worried him. The hex-bag was in his coat which meant, if he looked now, Sam would be visible to Clark.

"I'm fine," he said, "Where's the rest of my stuff?"

"Your coat is at the nurse's station as we were looking for your ID. Your boots are here." He opened the locker beside the bed and Sam saw his boots placed neatly inside. "I'm afraid you lost your shirt. We had to cut it off to ascertain whether you had additional injuries to your head injury. You had bled a lot."

That didn't matter, Sam thought. He could get his coat on and no one would know he wasn't wearing a shirt. It would do until he could get back to Sacramento and change. That was his priority.

"I'd like to get out of here now," he said.

"Soon," Doctor White said. "We need to observe you for a while. Your head injury is not serious, and the CT we ran was clear, but there are signs of a concussion that we would like to observe overnight and you have been unconscious for over an hour."

Sam shook his head, regretting it at once as it made his headache spike. "I can't stay. There are things I need to do."

He needed to get back to Jessica and away from here before his family showed up. There was still a chance he could get away without being found. They would be coming to Palo Alto, not Sacramento.

The doctor frowned. "I can arrange paperwork for you, but you need to understand you're leaving against my professional advice and I urge you to stay."

"Got it," Sam said. "I take full responsibility."

"And you will need to speak to the police," he went on. "They have been waiting for you to wake so they could take your statement. I will arrange the paperwork and let them know you're awake."

Sam managed to keep his expression neutral as the blow was dealt. He didn't want to talk to the cops, but he thought he was going to have trouble getting away before they showed up to speak to him.

The doctor turned and left and Sam leaned back against the pillows for a moment with a sigh. His head really was pounding, but his vision was clear, and he thought he would be able to make the ride back to Sacramento without a problem if he was careful.

"So…" Zach said awkwardly when the door had closed behind the doctor. "What were you doing here, and how did you even know where to find me to launch your rescue mission. I woke up in that place and you were pitching forward on top of me. That guy that grabbed me off campus looked messed up, but the EMT's couldn't find a mark on him. What happened?"

Before Sam could cobble together a suitable lie, the door opened and two cops came in. They acknowledged Zach and then turned to Sam and the taller of the two said, "Mr. Winchester, we've been waiting to speak to you. Your doctor said you're looking to leave, so I assume you're fit enough to give a statement."

"Sure," Sam said, pleased that his nerves didn't find a place in his voice. "What do you want to know?"

"What happened," the second cop asked. "How did you find Mr. Warren and his captor. How did you disarm him? Mr. Warren said he had a knife but it was across the room when Mr. Warren regained consciousness and the suspect was dazed but apparently without injury."

Sam drew a breath and launched into the lie that had formed as he'd listened. "I came back to Palo Alto to see my friends. I had decided I wasn't coming back to school so I wanted to tie up some loose ends. I was almost at campus when I saw Zach. I was going to offer him a ride when I saw a van pull up and a man drag him inside. I thought it was probably a frat prank, so I followed to see if I could help Zach. Those frat things can get a little crazy. I followed the van to the harbor and to the site after them. I realized it wasn't a joke when I saw the knife, so I went in after him."

"And you didn't think to call for help?"

"I was acting on instinct. I saw the knife and didn't want to waste time. I got in there and managed to disarm the man holding Zach but not before he threw a brick at me. I don't remember clearly what happened next. I went to help Zach and then I must have passed out."

The cop that had been making notes looked up and said, "And you didn't hurt the suspect?"

"No," Sam said. "We kinda wrestled for the knife and I won. I was bigger than him. Why? Is he saying I attacked him?"

The cops exchanged a look and then the taller shook his head. "No. He is claiming to have no memory of the incident at all."

Sam forced a smile. "I guess that's as good a defence as any."

He felt bad for the man that the demon had been using as a meatsuit, but there was nothing he could do for him. He couldn't tell the truth about how he'd been possessed. He had to chalk him up as a victim and hope he got a lenient judge.

"Yes, I suppose it is. Okay. I think we've got enough from you for now. I will need contact details from you if we need further information, but we will leave you in peace now."

Sam gave them his old phone number and Bobby's address as one jotted it down in his notebook and then thanked them and watched as they left the room before breathing a sigh of relief.

"You really saved me then," Zach said. "Thanks, man."

"It's fine," Sam said, smiling slightly. "I was just lucky I saw it happen and managed to follow."

Zach shuddered. "Yeah. It could have ended a whole other way if you hadn't." He was silent a moment and then said, "Are you really not coming back to school?"

"No," Sam said. "That's finished for me now."

"I can't imagine what you're going through, losing her like that, but do you really think that's what Jess would have wanted, for you to give it all up?"

"No," Sam said. "I think she would have wanted to be there with me. She can't be though, so I've got to do what I've got to do."

That was true. In an ideal world, Sam and Jessica would be in school together, but it wasn't an idea world. Jessica was dead. The fact he still had her in his life didn't change the tragedy of it. Sam couldn't go back to school while she was in Sacramento. She needed him there with her.

Sam got up from the bed, careful at first and them more confident as the dizziness was minimal, and took his boots from the locker and sat on the bed to pull them on. The door opened as he was tying his last lace and a young woman in pale green scrubs came in carrying a clipboard and Sam's coat. He took the coat from her at once and then reached for the clipboard.

"We need a couple signatures from you," she said. "This one here is for your insurance, and the other is your AMA release form."

Sam scrawled his signature in the indicated places and handed it back. "Thank you."

He stood and pulled on his coat and made for the door.

"Sam," Zach called after him.

Sam turned and saw Zach was holding out a hand. Sam shook it, feeing a wave of sadness at the knowledge that this would be the last time he would see his friend. His life in Palo Alto was really over now.

"Take care of yourself," Zach said.

"You, too," Sam said.

He started for the door again and then stepped back as it flew open and a couple walked in with features that made him sure they were Zach's parents. The woman made a pained sound and rushed to Zach's bedside, "Zach! What happened to you?"

"I'm okay, Mom," Zach said. "Really."

Leaving Zach to the thankfully distracting presence of his family, he followed the nurse out of the room and into the hall, feeling guilty relief that it had been as easy to deal with the cops as it had. He could have them he didn't remember anything, but it would be easier for him to get away without needing to. He didn't like to lie or hide things. He was keeping a big secret from his family with Jessica's presence and that was enough guilt to deal with for now. It was only because it protected her that he was able to do it.

He would get out of Palo Alto and then contact Clark to reassure his family that he was okay. He'd say what he had to in order to evade them, he would hide, he would lie if he had to, and he would do it for Jessica.

She was what really mattered.

* * *

Mary knew she should sleep, but she needed to go a little longer before they could switch off behind the wheel. Dean had only fallen asleep a couple hours ago, and she wanted him to get some rest more than she wanted it for herself. He had been on a knife-edge of worry ever since they'd left Sioux Falls—as they all had—and he needed the break of sleep to ease it for him. It mattered more to her that he had peace than she did. She would always put her son's wellbeing first, before her own.

Bobby turned on the blinker of the Jeep and Mary did the same, seeing the rest stop ahead. She would have been happier to keep driving, but she needed to stretch her legs for a moment and get some fresh air. She also wanted to check if Clark had spoken to Sam.

Sam had come before, when Clark was driving the Jeep, and by the time they'd found a place to stop so Clark could go to him, Sam was gone and didn't respond to Clark when he went looking for him. Disappointed but relieved that Sam was obviously now conscious if he was astral projecting, they had all agreed that Clark wouldn't drive any more. Mary, Dean and Bobby would take the wheels in shifts so that Clark would always be free to meet Sam if he came.

She pulled into the lot and stopped the Impala beside the Jeep. She examined Dean for a moment, wondering whether to wake him so he could stretch his legs and use the bathroom or whether to let him sleep while he could, but before she could decide, Dean's eyes opened and he looked around blearily. "Are we there?"

"Not yet," Mary said, seeing his disappointment. "We're in Utah. We have about five hours to go still. Are you hungry?" She looked out of the window. "There's a burger shack."

Dean shook his head and opened his door. "No, I just need the bathroom."

He climbed out and Mary did the same.

Bobby and Clark were walking towards them, and Mary called, "Anything?" to Clark.

He shook his head. "He's not coming when I'm there. He's probably sleeping. I'll keep trying."

"Thank you," Mary said.

Dean sighed and walked towards the small brick restrooms and Bobby followed. Mary hesitated a moment before going into the ladies' side. She used the toilet and then washed her hands, avoiding looking in the mirror above the sink. She knew what she would see. Shadowed eyes, pale skin, a tight brow and eyes that held all the worry and sadness she felt. She had already seen it in the mirrors of restrooms she'd already visited on the way.

When she got out, Bobby was waiting with four paper cups of coffee and a brown paper bag spotted with grease.

"They do churros," he said, holding out the bag. "I figure we need to eat something. We haven't had much."

They had bought sandwiches and soda from a gas station in Western Colorado and eaten them and some of the food they'd brought with them on the road, but that was hours ago, and Mary was hungry so she knew the others had to be, too. She thought Dean might be persuaded to eat something like a churro as he could eat it and move at the same time. As worried as she was for Sam, she was just as worried for Dean. He was a man that preferred action. This cross-country drive was a nightmare for him, especially as Sam was the one waiting at the other end, needing them.

Mary took one of the coffees and sipped it. Bobby had doctored it just as she liked for her, and she felt a wave of affection towards her old friend for the simple gesture.

"Was Clark looking much on the drive?" she asked.

Bobby nodded. "He didn't seem to do much but look, can't fault his dedication. He's not slept yet. He's got to be running on fumes. How's Dean doing?"

"He slept a little," she answered. "Not enough. I'm not giving up the wheel yet. He can have a little more."

Bobby huffed a laugh. "Yeah, you can try that."

The door opened behind them and Clark came out. He lit a cigarette and drew deeply on it them blew the smoke out of his nose. "That's better," he said.

None of them had told him he couldn't smoke in the Jeep, though Mary wouldn't have wanted him to, but he was uncharacteristically respectful to not try. Mary appreciated it.

"Bobby says you haven't slept," Mary said. "You should. You've got to be exhausted."

"I am," Clark said with a frown. "But I figured you were all about me looking for Sam."

"I am," Mary agreed. "But I want you to take care of yourself, too."

Clark grinned. "Aw, Mary, that's sweet. I'll grab a few hours when we get going again. If he comes while I'm out, he might do us all a solid and come talk in person again. He knows how to do it now. He's just got to concentrate."

Dean came out of the bathroom, running a hand through his hair and yawning. "We ready to go?" he asked.

"Soon," Bobby said, handing coffees to him and Clark. "Drink these and eat something."

He held out the bag and Dean took a churro with a word of thanks and then began to eat it quickly. Mary wasn't sure if it was real hunger or if he just didn't want to waste time eating when he could be driving.

Clark refused the offered bag and drew on his cigarette again. Bobby handed it to Mary with a pointed look and she took one and began to eat, not realizing how hungry she was until she started.

Mary was finishing her first and reaching for another when her phone rang. Hoping it was Sam, she pulled it from her pocket and checked the caller-ID and saw it was Jessica's father. Her eyes widened and she connected it quickly and said, "Michael?"

"Michael!" Dean said, his tone stunned.

Mary held up a hand to silence him and put the phone of speaker as Michael said, _"Hello, Mary. I'm sorry to call you like this, but I wanted to speak to Sam. I tried his cell but it went straight through to voicemail."_

"Oh, uh, we're not with him right now," Mary said awkwardly, wondering why Michael was looking for Sam.

"_Ah, I did wonder. Well, I saw Sam yesterday and the encounter has left me a little concerned."_

Mary gasped. "You saw him?"

"_Yes. He came to our house asking to borrow a car. He seemed very upset, anxious. He wasn't in a position to answer questions, so I gave him the keys to my car and he left. Elizabeth stayed home today in case he came back, but when he did, she didn't see him. The car was returned and the keys left in the mailbox, but he didn't come to speak to her. She didn't even realize he'd been there until she saw the car was back."_

"Sam was in Sacramento…" she said slowly.

"_He was an hour ago at least,"_ Michael said. _"The car wasn't there when Elizabeth let the cat out, but it was when she checked a little after. I just came home from work and found the keys where he'd left them. There was a note of thanks, but nothing else." _He hesitated and then said_, "When did he come to Sacramento? Flynn said he saw him at the cemetery weeks ago and he seemed… distressed. He didn't tell us because he didn't want to worry us. We thought he would have come to us if he was here though?" _

"I'm sorry he didn't come to see you," Mary said. "Sam left weeks ago. He's been in contact, but we didn't know where he was. He came there though…"

It made such perfect sense that she didn't know why none of them had thought of it sooner. With the whole country to choose from, Sam would have wanted somewhere that felt like home to shelter in while he was upset. The place where what remained of Jessica was would have felt like home to him.

"_I see,"_ Michael said_. "What would you like me to do? Should I look for him?"_

Mary was torn. She wanted someone to check on Sam, but she didn't want to drag Michael and Elizabeth any deeper into this than they already were.

"No," she said. "We're on our way to California already. We will find him."

Michael sounded almost relieved as he said, _"Okay. We will leave it to you. Please call us if you need help, though, and ask Sam to call if he can. We're worried."_

"If he can't call, I will," Mary promised.

"_Thank you, Mary. Take care of yourselves."_

They exchanged goodbyes and Mary ended the call with a slow breath.

"Sacramento," Bobby said thoughtfully.

"He went back to Jess," Dean said, sounding angry. "This whole time he's been there, and we didn't even think to check."

"That doesn't matter now," Bobby said. "We know where to find him."

"Do we?" Clark asked. "It's a big city."

"He'll be close to the cemetery," Dean said confidently. "We start with the closest motel and work out way out from there."

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, okay."

"We need to go," Dean said eagerly, taking the lid off his coffee and taking quick sips. "I'll drive."

"Are you sure?" Mary asked. "You should sleep a little longer. We've still got hours to—" She cut off as Clark swiped a hand through the air and shushed them. Mary had a moment's confusion before Clark's eyes closed and he stilled and she realized Sam was had arrived.

"Don't say a word," she whispered and Dean and Bobby nodded.

She didn't want Sam hearing that they knew where he was, though he would know they were on the road now. She hoped that he would assume they had heard he was in Palo Alto from Ash and would be happy to have gotten as far as Sacramento.

She waited for a sign that Sam was going to speak to them in person, but there was no shimmer in the air so she assumed he had chosen to speak to Clark alone.

It took a long time before Clark came back to himself and when he did, he held up a hand and remined silent for a while before sighing and saying, "He's gone."

"How is he?" Dean asked urgently.

"He seems okay. I can't get a read on him physically when we're in the astral plane as it's not his body that's there, but he was calm. He knows we're on the road looking for him, but I don't think he heard any of that phone call, so probably thinks we're headed to Palo Alto still. He seemed resigned but I think it was more relief than anything. He didn't even seem pissed that we knew as much as we do. He still seems…" He shrugged. "Happy isn't he right word, but he's not upset."

"Did he tell you what happened with the demon?" Bobby asked.

"Just said it was exorcised," Clark said. "He wasn't exactly open to questioning."

"We'll find out on our own," Dean said dismissively. "We've got to go."

Mary dropped her half-drunk coffee into a bin and then walked to the Impala. Dean was already behind the wheel, so she slid into the passenger side and made herself comfortable in the seat. She was wired now and didn't think she would sleep, but as the car pulled out of the lot and onto the road, her eyes grew heavy almost at once and the familiar sounds and motions of the Impala lulled her to rest.

She let sleep come, knowing that when she woke, she would be closer to Sacramento and her reunion with Sam.

* * *

**So… They're almost there. The reunion is coming. Sam, Dean, Mary, Bobby, Clark and… Jessica. How do you think that's going to go?**

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	18. Chapter 18

**Thank you so much ShadowHuntingDauntlessDemigod for the fabulous beta job and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading.**

* * *

_**Chapter Eighteen **_

Sam was tired by the time he reached his motel in Sacramento in the morning, after a slow, careful drive back to counteract the way his head jolted with each bump in the road. Jessica was there, and he had only minutes with her after speaking to Clark before he fell asleep, her hand stroking his face as he drifted off.

He woke hours later, when the light of the day had begun to fade, and his instant reaction was panic that she would be gone, but she was still sitting on the bed with him, her fingers tracing the lines on his forehead.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

Sam took stock before answering. "Better. My head doesn't ache so much now. And I feel awake."

"You probably shouldn't have slept so long after a head injury," she said. "I should have woken you." She smiled fondly. "But you looked so peaceful."

"And you stayed."

"Yes." She bent down and kissed him gently. "I think whatever it was that drags me away was being kind today. It knew you needed me."

"I always need you."

She stroked his cheek. "I know. And I'm here now. Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"In a minute," Sam said, swinging his legs around on the bed and getting to his feet. He was steady and the change in position didn't hurt his head too much.

He walked into the bathroom, used the toilet and then washed his hands and checked his reflection. There was a small white dressing on his forehead where the brick had hit, and when he peeled it back, he saw a small wound that was held closed by butterfly bandages. He covered it again and rubbed at his face with warm water. Someone had cleaned the blood off of him in the hospital, but he still felt grimy. He would have liked to shower, but he didn't want to be away from Jessica too long. She had been there a long time, and he didn't know how much longer she would be able to stay.

He walked out into the bedroom and pulled on a clean shirt. Jessica watched him with a smile and then patted the bed beside her. Sam climbed up the bed and leaned against the headboard, taking her hand in his and squeezing it.

"Go on then," she said. "Tell me how you're a hero."

Sam huffed a laugh. "I'm not a hero."

"You said you saved Zach," she corrected gently.

"I did, I guess." Sam drew a breath and smiled slightly. "Okay, here's what happened. Ash tracked his GPS and I found him at the new West Point Harbor site. He was unconscious and the demon had a knife. I stopped the knife with telekinesis, but the demon threw a brick." He touched the dressing on his forehead. "I didn't manage to stop that. I used the holy water and pinned the demon with telekinesis then exorcised it."

"Just like that? You held a _demon_ with your powers!"

Sam grinned, warmed by her open admiration. "Yeah. And the exorcism was still there, in my head. I studied it when Bobby started teaching us about demons, and it stuck. If I'd gotten a single word wrong, I would have been screwed."

"But you didn't," Jessica said with a beaming smile. "I always knew you were a genius. You were amazing."

Sam ducked his head. "I'm just glad it worked. It could have gone a whole other way." He frowned. "But it means the demons are active again. I told you this is what they did before. They wanted me to see these things coming. I figured they'd stopped, but they haven't."

"And you're scared of who they will target next," she guessed.

Sam nodded. "It could be anyone."

Jessica considered a moment. "Then you need to find them and stop them first. You have done it once, and you said yourself your telekinesis is better than ever. You know it works against them, so you have to find them and keep training." Her eyes widened. "And that's just telekinesis. I bet there's loads more that you can learn to use against them."

"Like what?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, but there's got to be more. You said that demon wants you for something. You need to be prepared when it comes. Try everything. You can research, see what else is possible. There are all kinds of powers. What about that movie we saw when the guy could use mind control?"

Sam remembered the low-budget eighties movie she was talking about. It had been laughably bad, but the idea of mind control had been interesting. "That was a movie, Jess."

"Yeah, but it worked. Try! Tell me to do something."

Sam shook his head, smiling slightly. "I can't mind control people, Jess. It doesn't work like that."

"Try!" she insisted.

Sam grinned. "Kiss me, Jess."

She leaned towards him. "I can't resist," she whispered. "You're making me do it. You can…" She broke off laughing and then kissed him firmly on the lips. "You don't need to command me to do that, and you know it. But maybe you can command other people to do things. You should try."

Sam pulled back, frowning at her. "Why would you even think that I could? It's not a real psychic power."

Jessica's eyes widened for a moment and then she shrugged. "I don't know. It just seemed like the kind of thing that could be possible. You have to admit it's something a demon would want. It could explain what it needs from you."

"I'd never do it," Sam said. "Even if it was possible, it would be wrong to do it. I won't take away someone else's will."

Jessica stared into his eyes for a moment and then nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry. I knew that already. It was just an idea."

"A bad one."

She lowered her eyes. "I know. I really am sorry."

Sam lifted her chin and kissed her gently on the lips. "It's okay. I'm not mad. Just a little surprised."

"I'm just worried about you. I don't want you to be hurt. That's why I think you should train yourself with whatever's possible. You need to be protected. You should practice."

"I can't," Sam said. "I would have to leave you to do it. Demons aren't going to line up here for me."

"I would be here when you came back."

"No!" Sam said, and then softened his voice as her eyes widened. "I'm sorry. I can't do it though. I have been without you too long. I can't bear to be away again, not that now I know you're here. I will practice with what I already have. That will be enough. My family has a name for the demon now. They will find it and the Colt. I will be protected. I won't be hurt."

Jessica nodded. "I know you believe that, but what if you're wrong? I could lose you. And then I will be alone here forever."

"It won't happen," Sam promised. "I'll never leave you again. I'll always be here."

She smiled. "I know you'll try, but we can't control it. That demon is strong."

"We don't know that," Sam pointed out.

"It killed me. It killed your dad. It scares me, Sam."

Sam stroked her cheek. "I will protect you."

Her eyes became sad. "You'll try, but you can't promise me anything."

Before Sam could answer, there was a sharp knock on the door and Sam started.

"Who's that?" Jessica asked, her eyes worried.

"I don't know," Sam said. "I've paid for the room for the next week, and housekeeping doesn't come in anymore. I better check. You should hide."

Jessica slid from the bed and walked to the bathroom as Sam got to his feet and moved to the door. He waited until the door had clicked closed behind her and then he jumped as there was another sharp knock on the door. He took a breath and formed his face into a neutral expression as he prepared to face whoever was there, and then opened the door.

The breath rushed out of him as he saw who was standing on the doorstep. It was Dean, his hand raised to knock again. Standing a little back from him was Mary, Bobby and Clark. Mary and Bobby were wide-eyed and tense, but Clark looked perfectly at ease, leaning against the side of Mary's Jeep. He raised a hand to Sam in greeting and grinned.

"Oh," Sam said quietly, dread in his stomach. "You found me."

* * *

Dean pulled the Impala into the lot of the first motel they reached and parked in an empty spot then climbed out. He looked around as if he was going to see a sign of Sam peering out of the windows, ready to meet them. There was no sign of anyone.

He started toward the office, Bobby and Mary on his heels and Clark ambling along in their wake, and pushed open the door.

There was a heavyset man behind the desk, his white shirt buttons taking the strain of his ample stomach. He looked up at them as they entered, and a frown creased his brow. "How many rooms?" he asked.

"I'll take a king," Clark said. "It's been a long drive, and I could do with a nap."

Dean ignored him and said, "We're looking for someone. A man."

The man raised an eyebrow. "There are better places to look. Try a bar."

Dean's hands fisted and an angry retort was on the tip of his tongue, but Mary touched his arm and said, "He's twenty-two and very tall. He might be checked in as Sam Winchester. He's my son."

"How tall?" the man asked.

"_Really_ tall," Clark said. "And his hair is almost as long as mine."

"The giant kid. Yeah, I know him."

"Which room is he in?" Bobby asked,

The man smiled slightly, as if enjoying himself but trying not to show it. "I can't go telling you where to find my guests. If he wanted you to know where he was, he'd tell you himself. Seems to me he deserves a little privacy."

Dean's stepped forward, ignoring his mother's soft-spoken words and hand on his chest, but Bobby moved in front of him and took out his wallet. He laid a fifty-dollar bill on the desk and said, "We _really _need to find him. We've been looking for him for a long time."

The man snatched up the bill and tucked it in his pocket with one hand while pulling a ledger toward him with the other. He ran a finger down the page and said, "He's in room thirty. You might want to cut him a break before storming in for the reunion, though. Try calling first. His girlfriend is probably in there, and if I had a girl that hot, I'd be finding better things to do with her than talk."

"What girlfriend?" Mary asked as Clark snorted.

The man grinned. "Blonde, hot, nice ass, she's in and out all of the time in the early hours."

Dean exchanged a confused glance with Mary. Who was with Sam? It was far too soon for him to be with another woman, too soon by years. Even without feeling his grief, Sam would never be with a woman yet. He loved Jessica too much to move on already.

"Thanks for your help," Bobby said vaguely, moving to the door.

"Thanks for your money," the man replied.

Dean waited until they were all outside before saying, "It can't be Sam. He'd never be with another woman now."

Clark shrugged. "Maybe he needs a little distraction. It explains why he'd block me. He wants a little privacy for _alone time._"

"No," Mary said firmly. "Dean's right. It's far too soon. It's something else."

Clark shrugged. "Then maybe he's got himself another Obi-Wan. He got the ingredients for that hex-bag from someone, and he's been training. He could have found himself a little outside help."

"Where's he going to find another psychic?" Bobby said,

"Craigslist?" Clark suggested. "The local woo-woo group? I don't know, but if you're sure he's not got himself a new squeeze, it's got to be something else, and that's the most obvious choice."

"It doesn't matter," Dean said. "We need to see him."

"Yes," Mary said quickly. "Room thirty." She started along the line of doors, coming to a rest where they'd parked the cars and pointing at the door in front of the Impala. "He's here."

"We hope," Clark said. "He could be making a beer run."

Dean started toward the door, Mary and Bobby following him and Clark leaning against the Jeep, looking perfectly relaxed, before stopping and saying. "This might be a bad idea."

"Sure," Clark said. "We drove all night and all day, but now we're here we should… what? Send him an invite to dinner?"

Dean took a calming breath, reminding himself not to bite back, and said, "I mean all of us at once. Maybe I should go in alone at first."

Bobby nodded. "That's probably a good idea."

Mary froze. "You think he won't want to see me?"

"No," Dean said, though he wasn't sure if Sam would. "I just think he came a long way and hid himself for a long time, and it's going to be a shock for him to find us here. Going in slow will make it easier on him."

He didn't want Sam slamming the door in their faces, and he was worried that was what would happen if they overwhelmed him all at once. They needed to take it slow with him.

"He's right, Mary," Bobby said. "We'll all get a chance eventually. Let Dean go first."

Dean could tell she didn't like it, but she allowed Bobby to guide her back to where Clark stood and she nodded to Dean. "Be patient. Stay calm."

Dean had never needed her advice less. He was aware what they were doing to Sam, arriving like this, and he knew it could backfire epically. If Sam took off again, he would make sure he was never found if he didn't want to be.

He knocked on the door and leaned close to listen. He heard a muffled voice, pitched higher than Sam's and then a rumble that sounded like his brother answering. The fact that there really was someone else there made Dean's heart speed, wondering who this person was and what she was doing with Sam. He was sure it wasn't a romantic thing. He knew brother too well to believe it. But there was someone…

He leaned back and knocked again, shifting from foot to foot as he waited for it to be answered. He raised his hand to knock again and then stopped at the sound of the lock disengaging and Sam opened the door.

His first thought was that Sam looked like hell. There was a dressing on his head and a dark bruise spreading from underneath. He was pale and his hair limp. He looked as though he needed a shower and some sunlight. The breath rushed out of him as Dean lowered his hand to his side, and Dean saw the shock and the dread on his face.

"Oh," he said quietly. "You found me."

Dean felt a wave of annoyance at the reaction, but he reminded himself it was to be expected. Sam had been hiding for weeks, he'd left for a reason, and he'd had no reason to think they would have tracked him here. Just because this moment made Dean happy, relieved to finally see him again, it didn't mean Sam would feel the same.

"Hey, Sammy," he said. "Can I come in?"

Sam's eyes widened as they moved past Dean to where Mary, Bobby and Clark stood behind him.

"Just me," Dean said quickly. "They'll wait out here."

Sam hesitated for a moment and then nodded and stepped back and held the door open. Dean entered and flinched as the door slammed closed behind him and the lock engaged as if Sam thought they were going to rush in, too.

There was no sign of the woman that had been speaking inside, the only things Dean could see were Sam's clothes and laptop on the table, but he could sense another presence there, and he glanced at the closed bathroom door, sure that was where she was hiding.

"Can I sit?" he asked.

"Sure."

Dean took a chair at the table and waited for Sam to sit across from him before saying. "How are you doing?"

Sam shrugged. "Okay, I guess. How did you find me?"

"Ash said you were going after a demon in Palo Alto and then the hospital called Bobby. Jessica's father called and told us you borrowed a car and dropped it off without seeing them. He said you'd been seen at the cemetery. We figured you'd be staying close, so we took a chance. What happened?"

"A demon snatched Zach," Sam said tonelessly. "I exorcised it but not before it winged me with a brick."

Dean's eyes widened. "You went after a demon alone?"

"I had to; there was no one else. You never would have gotten there in time."

"That was pretty damn dangerous. You could have been killed." Dean couldn't hide the harsh growl in his tone. Sam had been up against a demon alone, and he'd been hurt. Just thinking about the possibilities of what could have happened to his brother was upsetting Dean.

"I wasn't," Sam said, his eyes drifting to the bathroom door and a look of worry on his face.

"What did they say at the hospital?" Dean asked, tamping down his anger and worry.

Sam shrugged and looked back at him, though it seemed to take effort. "They did a scan. I'm fine."

"How did you deal with the demon alone?"

"I used my powers. I was able to hold it while I exorcised it." His eyes moved back to the bathroom and a look of desperate need spread across his face. "I can't talk right now, Dean. Get a room or something. I'll come find you later and we can talk."

Dean looked from Sam to the bathroom door and said, "Who's in there, Sam?"

Sam looked panicked. "No one!"

Unable to deny his curiosity any longer, Dean got to his feet and walked toward the bathroom. He only managed a few steps before something caught his chest and stopped him. He looked back over his shoulder and saw Sam was on his feet but too far back to reach him. He hadn't touched him, but the concentrated look on his face told Dean he was using his powers to hold him. He had never used them like this before, not to hold one of them. Dean hadn't even known he was able to. He thought it was just Clark, who had years to hone his gift, that could do it. Sam was obviously much more powerful now.

"Let me go, Sam."

Sam shook his head, his voice pleading as he said, "Please, Dean, just go. I promise I'll talk to you later. There no one there."

Dean felt a jolt of shock. Sam was lying to him. Sam didn't lie. They never lied to each other. He couldn't have been more surprised if Sam had physically attacked him.

"Don't lie, Sammy," he said, his hurt obvious. "I am sick of lies. Please, tell me what's going on."

Sam eyes became wet. "I don't want to lie, but I have to. I have to protect her."

"Protect who?" Dean asked, worry tightening in his chest.

Sam wiped at his face, smearing the tears that had fallen. "Please don't make me do this. Just go, Dean. It's okay, I promise. You don't need to worry."

"It's too late for that, Sammy. I'm already ready worried," Dean said. "You're going to tell me or I am going to find out on my own. Either way, this is coming out. I want you to be the one to do it."

Sam sagged and his face crumpled. "If I tell you, you have to promise to leave her alone. Don't make her go away again. I need her."

More confused than ever, Dean stepped back, relieved he could make the movement, and gripped Sam's shoulder. "You know I won't hurt you," he said. "But you have to be honest with me."

"You have to listen," Sam said desperately. "Let me explain it all."

"I'll listen," Dean said. "Help me understand what's going on."

Sam took a breath and wiped at his face again. "It's Jess, Dean," he said with a look of exquisite joy that was contradicted by his tears. "She came back."

* * *

**So… The secret is out! Dean knows, at least he knows some of it. There's a big conversation coming and a lot of drama. Hold onto your hates people, it's going to get bumpy. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	19. Chapter 19

**Thank you ShadowHuntingDauntlessDemigod for beta'ing and Ncsupnatfan and VegasGranny for pre-reading. You ladies are the best xxx**

**With the UK now joining the list of countries in lockdown, I would like to repeat my words from before. If any of you are on lockdown, in quarantine, or self isolating at the moment, drop me a PM/Review as I have something I'd like to offer you.**

* * *

_**Chapter Nineteen**_

Sam saw the shock on Dean's face and he smiled, his tears drying on his cheeks now as he felt the relief of getting the secret out there and seeing Dean's reaction was shock not an instant need to destroy. He knew instinctually that it was going to be okay. Dean was going to take care of him.

He remembered how it had felt to know she was still there, and now Dean was feeling that same thrill of shocked joy. It was incredible, unreal, and now Dean felt it, too. Sam was happy to share that with him at last. He was glad he'd told him. He owed Dean the truth. It had been selfish to hide it for so long, selfish to run from him. He should have known Dean would take care of him. He knew what it meant to Sam to have lost Jessica, and he would be just as happy to know she was still there, with Sam. The fact he had been so scared seemed silly to him now.

"How?" Dean asked weakly.

"She's a ghost. But she's real to me," Sam said in a rush of words.

Dean nodded slowly, still in shock, Sam could tell. "Can I see her?"

"Yes!"

Sam was eager to share her now. And Jessica would be relieved. She would know as soon as she saw Dean that she would be safe. Dean would never hurt Sam or her. He knew the truth now. Sam didn't have to hide it anymore, to lie by words or omission. That was a huge relief. He hated to lie, especially to his brother. They were always honest with each other.

He hurried across the room to the bathroom and knocked, "You can come out now," he said gently. "It's all going to be okay, Jess."

He waited, beaming at Dean, wanting to see his happiness when he saw she was really there, but the door remained closed and there was no sound of movement inside.

Frowning, he opened the door and sighed, "Oh. She's gone."

Dean crossed the room and peered past him into the bathroom. "Gone where?"

"She does this sometimes," Sam explained. "She goes into this other place, and then is back in the cemetery. She always comes back though. I have to find her." He checked his watch. "It's too early though. She'll be there later, tonight." He smiled. "I'll tell you when she's back and you can speak to her. It's the most amazing thing, Dean. She's so… she's my Jess."

Dean walked back to the table and fell into a chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose, disappointed, Sam knew, and said cautiously, "Tell me everything, Sammy."

Sam sat across from him and wrangled his thoughts into a cohesive strand to follow. "I was dreaming of her when we were in Lawrence. The night Mom told us the truth about her deal, I had a vision. She was in the cemetery, watching her parents at her grave, and she looked so sad. I knew it was real… well, I hoped it was. I didn't really believe until she was there with me. I came and she was here."

"Just like that?"

"No, not at first. I had to wait for her. I sat in the cemetery for days waiting, and she never came, but one night I saw her again, a vision, and when I went back to the cemetery, she came." He drew a quick breath and launched into his story again. "She's real to me, Dean. I can touch her, feel her. It's like she's really alive still."

Dean shook his head slowly. "Ghosts aren't like that, Sam."

"I know, but I have my gifts. Missouri can talk to spirits and sense them, I bet she can feel them, too. I'm like her. I can do things normal people can't. It makes it…" He shivered. "I have her back, Dean."

Dean stared into his eyes and said, "Are you sure about this, Sammy? It's not a… dream or something."

"No," Sam said. "You'll see. It's all real. I'm not crazy."

Dean looked thoughtful. "No, you're not," he agreed. "I heard a voice before when I knocked, but this is just so incredible. It's hard to wrap your mind around."

"I know," Sam said, reaching across and squeezing his arm. "But it's happening."

He felt lighter than he had for weeks. Dean knew now—Sam wasn't hiding her like a dirty secret—and he understood. He hadn't once spoken about Sam letting her go. Sam should have trusted him sooner. Dean could have known this whole time. Sam had been so scared they would take her away from him when he should have known better. Dean wouldn't hurt him. He said so. Dean wound _never_ hurt him, but…

"You can't tell Mom or Bobby!" he said quickly. "They can't know she's back. Not yet anyway. They might not understand."

"I'm not sure _I_ understand," Dean admitted.

"You will," Sam said. "When you see her, it will be different. But they might take her away from me. They might…" He couldn't put his fear that they would salt and burn her into words. It was as if he was inviting it by putting the thought into the universe.

Dean's eyebrows rose towards his hairline. "You don't trust them."

"I want to, but this is too important to risk. How many ghosts do you think they've dealt with in their lives? Do you really think they'd trust one now? They won't understand that Jess is different. She's not like a vengeful spirit. She's just as good now as she was when she was alive." He sighed happily. "She still loves me, even though she knows I let her down."

Dean stared into his eyes, seeming to be weighing something in his mind, and then he nodded. "I trust you, Sam. If you believe she's not vengeful, I believe you."

Sam sighed with relief. "Thank you."

Dean nodded. "Okay. You need to sort yourself out, and I can't leave them waiting outside forever. We'll get ourselves rooms and then we'll go get something to eat. Mom and Bobby need to talk to you properly. We've all been going pretty crazy worrying about you all this time. And you want them to see you looking better than this." Dean gestured Sam from head to foot.

Sam nodded eagerly. "Yeah. I will."

He wasn't worried about facing his mother and dealing with his confused feelings about her now. He understood her better now. He didn't forgive her for lying all those years, but he knew why she had. He could deal with that though, he could deal with anything now that he knew Dean would let Jessica stay.

"I'll come back in an hour and see if you're ready," Dean said. "Is there anywhere around here that's good to eat?"

Sam considered a moment. He'd not been eating out anywhere nice, but he remembered a steak house close to Jessica's parents' place that was nice. They could go there.

"I know a place," he said. "They have steak."

Dean smiled, though it looked a little forced, and said, "Great. Get yourself sorted out and we'll go." He got to his feet and walked to the door, stopping with his hand on the lock. "Thanks for telling me the truth, Sammy. I'll take care of it."

Sam walked to his brother and pulled him into a hug, happiness rushing through him. Dean held him tight and then pulled back as Sam said, "Thank you, Dean. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"I get it," Dean said, pulling open the door and stepping outside.

As it swung closed behind him, Sam allowed himself a moment to absorb his relief and joy. Dean knew now, and he was going to make it okay. Sam would be able to tell Jessica she was safe and that she could see Dean, too. That would make her happy.

It was all going to work out.

* * *

Clark was leaning against the Jeep, smoking and humming to himself. He seemed perfectly relaxed, no sign of worry in him at all. Mary was feeling the opposite. Her every nerve was taut with tension. She had no idea what was happening in the room she stood outside of, what Sam and Dean were saying, and she desperately wanted to know.

Bobby strode out of the office and handed key cards to Mary and Clark. "I got us forty through forty-two," he said. "Me and Dean are sharing. You two have got kings. You're forty-one, Clark."

"Thank you," Mary said distractedly.

Clark stubbed out his cigarette and said, "In that case, I'm going to crash since my services as an astral watchdog are no longer required."

Bobby nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Clark. We appreciate what you've done."

Clark lifted an arm in farewell as he walked towards the room and then he stopped and turned back as the door to Sam's room opened and Dean came out. Mary waited, hoping Sam would come, too, but Dean was alone. He looked tense and didn't respond to Mary's queries of whether he was okay. He just raised one finger, indicating that he needed a moment, then walked away, past the office and around the corner. Bobby and Mary exchanged a glance and followed him.

When they reached him, Dean was looking up at the small bathroom windows on the rear of the rooms, counting quietly, and then he came to a stop and looked down at the dirty ground below one window.

"Figured," he said in a strained tone and stood on tiptoes and ran a hand across the windowsill.

"What's going on, son?" Bobby asked.

Dean rubbed his fingers together, sprinkling a small path of salt on to the ground where it landed in a clear footprint. "We've got a problem," he said.

"What's wrong?" Mary asked.

Dean glanced up at the window again and shook his head. "Not here."

"I've got us rooms," Bobby said.

"Good."

They followed Bobby back around the motel to where Clark waited, looking amused. "What's the new crisis?" he asked. "There is one, right? Your family always seems to have one crisis or another going on."

Bobby unlocked one of the doors and gestured them in. Clark shrugged and went in first then Mary followed after Dean and Bobby, closing the door behind her. Clark was sitting in a chair at the table, his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands folded on his lap. Bobby was on the opposite chair and Dean was pacing back and forth in front of the two beds.

"What's wrong?" Mary asked again from her place by the door, too nervous to sit down.

Dean stopped and raked a hand through his hair before saying, "Something's going on."

Clark huffed a laugh, "Something is _always_ going on with you guys. Tell me, do you ever have slow days?"

Dean shot him a glare and said, "Sam thinks he's seeing Jess."

Mary sucked in a breath, worry filling her.

"He's hallucinating?" Bobby asked, his own confusion and concern in his voice.

"Hallucinations don't leave footprints," Dean said. "Nor do ghosts." He dropped down onto the foot of the closest bed and hid his face in his hands as he cursed.

"Tell us everything," Bobby said.

Dean looked up and drew a slow breath before saying, "Sam thinks Jess is a ghost. She's been with him for weeks, pretty much since he arrived here, and he had visions of her before that. He can touch her, feel her; she's real to him."

"That's impossible," Mary whispered. "Ghosts aren't like that."

"I know," Dean said. "He thinks it's his gift, that he's like Missouri, but we know about Missouri's connection with spirits. She can sense them, talk to them and hear them, but she can't touch them. I knew it was wrong even before I saw the footprints, but now…" He cursed. "There is someone with Sam that he's able to touch and talk to, but it's not a ghost."

Clark huffed a laugh, "Just when I think things can't get any crazier, stuff like this happens."

"It's not funny!" Bobby snapped. "Sam loved Jess, and now some monster is making him think she's back."

"What monster though?" Mary asked. "Who would do this to him?"

There was silence for a minute as they all considered. Mary was thinking of the options. She thought it had to be a demon. Azazel would enjoy having someone close to Sam, watching him and perhaps guiding him to his plans. He had already interfered with Sam by orchestrating visions of people he cared about getting hurt. Perhaps he wanted a closer connection to him.

"A demon," Bobby said, clearly following the same train of thought.

"Is that possible?" Dean asked. "There can't have been much of a body left for them to possess after the fire. Could they heal it enough to make him believe she's there?"

"I don't think so," Clark said. "They can survive serious injuries, but they don't heal them. They just live with them. I can't see them being able to use someone that had been roasted like that."

Mary flinched at his callous words. She knew he wasn't sensitive, he'd shown that again and again, but to speak of how Jessica died the way he did was cruel.

"It's got to be a shapeshifter," Clark went on. "They obviously got hold of Jessica before she was killed and took her shape and got the memory download." He looked impressed. "It's pretty genius. If it was Azazel that lined this up, they could get into Sam's head easily like that. He's not going to ask too many questions if he thinks the woman he loves is back from the dead. I know I wouldn't."

"Why would a shapeshifter do it, though?" Dean asked. "Do monsters usually work with demons?"

"Not that I've heard," Bobby said. "But they could find a way. Maybe they're threatening it. Maybe they're paying it. Either way, we've got to do something about it. We have to stop it."

Mary winced. "Kill Jessica?"

"It's not really her, Mary," Bobby said patiently.

She knew that, but to Sam it was. He would be so happy to have her back; it would be a miracle to him. He had hidden her for weeks. He loved her. If he believed this was really Jess, he would love this shapeshifter, too. How were they supposed to kill it knowing that? It was going to break him.

"Sam doesn't know that," Dean said. "You didn't see him when he was talking about her. Happy doesn't even begin to cover it. He was elated, obsessed, almost maniacal. He didn't want me to tell you because he thought you were going to make her go, salt and burn her. This is even worse than if we could do that. We're not moving her on to a better place, or even hoping to. We're sending her wherever monsters go when they die." He sighed. "It's not her, I know, but it feels like it is when I think of doing this to him. It's going to…"

"Destroy him," Mary supplied. "I know."

Dean cursed. "I don't want to do this to him."

Mary felt the same. She didn't want to do this to Sam either, to take away his love all over again. She didn't know if he would ever recover from it. He had lost too much already, suffered too much. How could they take away what was keeping him whole and happy?

"You've got no choice," Clark stated. "I can feel how twisted up you all are about this, and I get it, but you can't leave him with that _thing_ a moment longer. It's sick."

"I know," Mary said quietly. "We have to find it. Where is it now, Dean?"

"I don't know. It was in the bathroom when I got in there, but it obviously high-tailed it out of the window. Sam said she goes sometimes and ends up in the cemetery again. We have to get there and…"

"Kill it," Clark said darkly. "Yes, you do. And you better do it before Sam get there."

"It won't be there yet," Dean said. "Sam said she wouldn't be there till later. I guess she waits till dark to keep up the story of being a ghost, drawn back to her bones when she disappears."

"It's not _she_," Clark said pointedly. "It's an _it._"

"I know," Dean growled. "But the problem is the same no matter what I call her. We have to wait until she's there later. And we have to get there before Sam."

"What's he doing now?" Mary asked.

"Cleaning up," Dean said. "I told him we'd give him an hour and then we'd all go get something to eat together."

"All of us?" Mary asked hopefully.

Dean looked disappointed, and her heart sank as she realized how callous the question must have sounded in the face of their reality. She just wanted to know if she was going to be able to speak to him now, see him properly, be with him. That was her love coming to the fore, the need she felt to make things right with her youngest son.

"Honestly, Mom, I don't think your lies are even going to register with him after tonight. He's eating with us all and tomorrow he's waking up to find that the woman he loves has disappeared again." He laughed harshly. "And I was feeling guilty for breaking my promise. That's pretty much nothing after what I am going to do to him now."

Clark surveyed Dean for a moment, an oddly sympathetic look on his face, and then he said, "Quit tying yourselves in knots. I'll be the one to take it down. You can all play innocent. You don't even have to tell him what happened. Let him believe she's moved on naturally if you like."

"Sam would never believe that," Dean said. "He would think we did it. That's what he's scared of."

Clark shrugged. "Then we break his heart. It's happening either way. You guys can decide what happens after. You can have Mosely tell him Jess moved on. She's already shown she can lie to Sam when she feels justified." He shot Mary a pointed look. "I am just going to focus on ending this sick thing Azazel has set him up with." His expression darkened. "And then we find that damn guy Elkins and get the gun. We kill that son of a bitch demon and end it. We stop it doing something so twisted to anyone else."

Dean frowned. "You really care."

Clark looked into his eyes. "Yeah, I do. There are some things that shouldn't be touched, things that are sacred, and Jessica's memory is one of them. That bastard needs to pay for doing that to Sam."

Mary saw the poorly restrained anger in Clark and she thought she understood him a little better now. He did care about Sam as a person, but it was more than that. He was seeing the mirror of his own pain in Sam and imagining how much worse it was going to get. He could see how Sam was going to suffer and he was angry about it.

She felt the same way. Sam was her son, and they were going to break him to save him. And before that, they had to stow what they were feeling and go out to dinner with Sam. He couldn't be allowed to suspect anything. They all had to play their roles perfectly.

Sam couldn't know what they were planning.

* * *

**So… They're clued in. We've got some read heartbreak coming soon. What did you think of Clark in this one? **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	20. Chapter 20

**Thank you so much ShadowHuntingDauntlessDemigod for being wonderful enough to beta my messes for me and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan and VegasGranny for truly being the best pre-readers. Your patience and thoughtful additions make the story what it is.**

****Thursday was the 9th anniversary of me posting my first ever fanfic. In those 9 years, I have written 4.2 million words over 63 posted stories. Writing has brought indescribable joy and meaning to my life, and some of my very best friends. Each and every one of you, those that review, those that favourite and add my stuff to alerts, and those that just lurk in the traffic stats, add to the experience. Thank you all so much xxx****

* * *

_**Chapter Twenty**_

Dean pulled on his coat and checked his wallet and keys, taking longer than was necessary to give himself one more minute to prepare before he would go to get Sam.

When they had made their plan to kill the shapeshifter posing as Jessica, he'd never thought they would go ahead with their planned dinner together, too. How were they supposed to look at Sam, knowing what they were about to do? He wasn't that good an actor. But Clark had been insistent. They had to play it as normal if they weren't going to tip Sam off. He needed to believe everything was okay, if they were going to get away with killing the shapeshifter without him knowing what had happened. Sam had to believe Jessica had moved on naturally.

Dean could tell Mary and Bobby were uncomfortable with it, too, but they both wanted to see Sam properly before he was dealing with the second loss of Jessica, while perhaps things could be close to good for him. After Jessica was gone, nothing was ever going to be good again.

"You ready?" Bobby asked.

Dean braced himself and nodded. "As I'll ever be."

Bobby patted his shoulder. "It's going to be okay, Dean. We just have to get through dinner and then we can end it."

"No," Dean said. "It's going to be okay for one dinner, and then it's all going to hell when Sam finds out Jessica is gone. Even if we can pull off our plan and he believes she's moved on, he's going to be wrecked. He might shut down again. He might do worse."

"We'll take care of him," Bobby said.

Dean huffed a laugh. "Because that worked out so well last time."

"Are you having second thoughts?" Bobby asked.

"No! It has to be stopped, it has to die, but no matter what we know it is and what it's doing, Sam is going to believe he lost the woman he loves again. He's already been through so much. I don't know if he can take this."

Bobby pulled him into a hug and patted his back. Dean clung to him for a moment and then pulled back.

"What are we going to do, Bobby?" he asked, pleading in his voice.

"We're going to end this… thing," Bobby said. "It's sick and twisted. Clark was right, Jessica should have been sacred. We take that monster out of the game and then we deal with what comes after. We hope Sam can maybe find some peace in the end and we support him until then. Can you do that?"

Dean closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah, I can." He looked at Bobby again and said, "We should go."

He opened the door and walked out into the cool air. Clark was waiting, leaning against the wall beside Sam's door, and Mary was standing by the Jeep. Dean guessed she was feeling unsure of what to do. She wanted to be close to Sam, that was obvious, but she also knew she needed to give him space to come to her. Dean didn't envy her situation.

He went to Sam's door and knocked as Clark stepped up behind him, close enough that Dean thought he could feel his breaths on the back of his neck.

The door opened, and Sam smiled tentatively at them.

"Sammy!" Clark said happily. "Long time no see, unless you count our astral chats, which I don't."

Sam laughed softly, "Hey, Clark."

Clark pushed past Dean, making him grit his teeth, and held out a hand to Sam. Sam shook it and shot Dean an apologetic didn't look surprised that Clark's antagonistic attitude was unchanged. Dean thought it never would change. The sun would rise, Clark would annoy Dean. The sun would set and Clark would still be an asshole. Some things were fact.

"You're riding with me," Dean said, nudging Clark out of the way. "Clark is with Mom and Bobby. They're waiting for him now."

Clark shrugged. "Just wanted to get my hug in first."

Despite his words, he made no move toward Sam. He merely nodded and smiled smugly.

"We should go," Sam said, coming out of his room and closing the door behind him. Clark strolled over to the Jeep and climbed into the back. Mary was poised with her hand on the door, her eyes fixed on Sam.

"Hey, Mom," Sam said quietly, his expression carefully guarded. Dean wished he knew what his brother was thinking.

Mary lifted a hand as if wanted to reach for him and then dropped it to her side again, "Hello, Sam."

Bobby showed no discomfort as he strode to Sam and pulled him into a hug, "Good to see you, boy," he said, patting Sam's back and then pulling away and giving him an appraising look. "How are you doing?"

"Good," Sam said, nodding. "Really good."

It sounded like he really meant it, and it made Dean feel a pang of guilt. Sam was good because he had 'Jessica' back and he had shared his secret with Dean. He believed Dean was going to help him. He didn't know Dean had already broken his trust and told them everything. He didn't know what they were planning to do next.

Dean felt like an asshole, but he forced himself to smile and say, "Should we go?"

Sam nodded and made his way over to the Impala.

Dean climbed in behind the wheel and waited for Sam to get settled before bringing the engine to life and turning on the radio. Metallica spilled from the speakers and Sam grinned. Dean turned it up in hopes that it would curb conversation, saving him from betraying his brother more than he had to with lies about how he was going to protect Jessica, but Sam spoke over the music.

"This feels good," he said with a wide smile.

His hopes dashed and guilt curdling in his chest as Sam's obvious happiness, Dean said, "Yeah. I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Sam said. "I'm sorry I just took off the way I did. I had to though. I was scared that you would… you know… take her away. I should have known better."

It felt like an anvil had dropped on Dean's chest, and he had to take a moment to catch his breath before he could say, "I get it, Sammy. There's no blame here."

"Thank you," Sam said seriously. "I don't think I would be able to say the same if it was the other way around. I'd be pissed you didn't trust me." He shrugged. "I guess I was a little obsessed."

Dean fixed his eyes determinedly in the rear-view mirror as he reversed out of their spot, unable to meet Sam's eyes as he said, "It makes sense."

Sam was obsessed still, that was obvious from their conversation when Dean had first arrived at the motel. He was consumed with Jessica, and Dean had been almost scared of the way Sam was talking, aware of just how far from himself he had gone. He'd felt like he was dealing with a powder keg. That feeling hadn't gone. If anything it was worse now. They had this evening to act normal, all except Sam at least, and then they were going to kill the creature Sam believed was the woman he loved. This was possibly going to be worse than the first time he had lost Jessica as this time he was living in the dream that she had returned to him. He appreciated her even more because of the miracle that her return was.

"So," Dean said, hoping to settle them on a new topic. "Mom's going to be following us, so where are we heading?"

"Get on the interstate and go south," Sam said. "The place we're going is downtown. Take exit 86 and we'll pick up the Capitol Boulevard. It's about halfway down there."

"Got it," Dean said, grappling for something new to say to keep the subject going. Sam took it up for him though, with another awkward topic that was only a little relief.

"How are things with you and Mom?" he asked.

Dean sighed. "Honestly, Sammy, I don't know. It's better than it was, we talked it out a little, but things are still wrong, and that _feels_ wrong. It's never been like this with her before, not with any of you. We don't seem to fit right anymore."

Sam considered carefully. "Yeah, I get that. It was probably harder for you. I got away and had something else to think about, something good. You were there with it." He rubbed his hands along his legs nervously. "I don't know what I feel. I mean, I can relate to her a little now, she hid it because she was scared and I hid Jess for the same reason, but she made honesty such a huge part of our lives that it feels like even more of a betrayal. I want things to be right, I really do, but I don't know how to do that. I guess it's easier since I'm not going to be with her."

"You're not?" Dean asked.

Sam frowned at him. "I'm not coming home again, Dean. I can't leave Jess. I'm going to need to get a job or something since I've not got that much money left, and I'll need somewhere to live other than the motel as that's going to eat whatever money I do earn, but I'm going to find a way to make it work here. This is my life now."

Dean hadn't thought of that. He knew the life Sam was planning now was never going to happen, but that fact it would if Sam had his way was a shock. Sam was going to give everything up, school, their home, their lives together, to stay with his ghost.

Sam had been away from them at college but he'd always come home and they'd visited. How much would Sam see them if he was with 'Jessica' still? Would he even want to? It wasn't real, Jessica wasn't real, but the fact Sam was willing to sacrifice to be with her made Dean see just how deep he was in his obsession. Or was addiction the right word?

"I've been thinking, too," Sam went on. "I know you want to see Jess, and I get it, but I've got to prepare her first. She knows what you do, hunting, and she's scared you'll make her go away. I need to make her understand that she's safe with you, and that might take a little time. I'll talk to her tonight and then find the right time for you to see her. I can't rush her. She's already been through too much."

Dean nodded stiffly, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. "Sure, Sammy, we'll do it whenever you say."

Sam smiled and relaxed in his seat, his restless movements stilling and his head nodding to the beat of the music. "It's all going to be okay," he said quietly enough that Dean thought he was talking to himself not to Dean. "She's going to be fine."

"Yeah," Dean said, a smile on his face that felt like a rictus. "It's going to be good."

* * *

Bobby was feeling the tension as their evening progressed, but he was practised at hiding things when he needed to, he was a hunter and had learned how to conceal what he was feeling and thinking to get a job done, so it was easier for him. Dean and Mary were hunters, too, even Clark was in a different way, but Mary and Dean were struggling with it. Thankfully, Sam seemed too occupied with his happiness to notice.

Clark was perfectly at ease, needling Dean and chatting to Sam, teasing him about the fact he'd taken off without an apparent care in the world. It was a vast difference to the man that had seethed with anger when he heard what Sam was living with and what had happened.

Mary and Dean were having a harder time. Bobby guessed it was worse for Dean as he was the one that had broken Sam's trust by telling them what he knew and now felt the guilt of what they were going to do, but Mary also had a rough time, probably because she was also struggling with the awkwardness between her and Sam.

Dean had time to get used to what she had done and he'd been able to talk to her about it, but Sam had been hit with the confession and then had gone straight into the revelation that Jessica was 'alive' and he'd been occupied with being with her. Bobby doubted he'd given much thought to what she had done since he left them. He wouldn't have if it had been him in his place. If Karen was back, it would consume him. He probably would be as blind to everything else as Sam was.

"So…" Clark said expansively as he pushed his plate away and rubbed his stomach. "Obviously, you've got projection mastered, but how's everything else going, Sammy?"

"It's Sam," Sam corrected, giving Clark a pointed look and then glancing at Dean, a clear indication that he knew what Clark was trying to do. "And they're going okay. I have only had that one vision."

"What was that about anyway?" Clark asked.

Sam glanced at Dean, and Dean shook his head and said, "I told them some, but the story would be better coming from you."

Dean had barely told them anything. The hour they'd had to prepare for dinner and been spent discussing their situation and what they were going to do about it.

Sam grinned. "Well, it wasn't much really. I had a vision of my friend Zach being bundled into the back of a van. I had Ash help track him down and I went to Palo Alto. I was too late to stop him being grabbed, but I got there in time to stop him being killed." His eyes darted from face to face, settling on Clark. "I blocked the knife the demon threw with telekinesis and then held it in place while I exorcised it."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

Sam nodded eagerly. "Yeah, it wasn't even as hard as I thought."

"Show us then, smart ass," Clark said.

Sam looked around and then fixed his eyes on the bottle of beer in front of Clark. It slid towards him and Clark caught it on the edge of the table.

"I'm not sure if you were aiming to give me a drink or tip it in my lap so I look like I peed my pants, but it was impressive either way," Clark said. "All that time using Dean as a cuddly toy and you nailed it on your own." He laughed. "You didn't manage to block something though. What happened to your head?"

Sam touched the bandage on his temple and grimaced. "The demon threw a brick."

Clark chuckled. "So you're not _that _good then."

"I was distracted," Sam said defensively.

Mary fixed her worried gaze on Sam and asked, "Are you okay now? There was no damage?"

"I'm fine," Sam said. "It was just a mild concussion. They checked me out at the hospital."

"And they were happy for you to leave when you did?" Mary asked.

Sam shrugged. "No one stopped me."

"Anyway," Clark said loudly, cutting off Mary's concerned enquiries. "What about the rest? One vision and some impressive telekinesis is great, but what about psychometry? Tapped into any memories?"

"No, but I've not really been trying. I figured the telekinesis was the most important thing, so w–… _I_ focused on that."

There was an awkward silence as they all heard the aborted word Sam hadn't spoken. We. His training wasn't something he had been doing alone. The shapeshifter had been a part of it.

It made sense. If they were right about it working for Azazel, a goal would be for Sam to be as powerful as he could be as a psychic. It may not want Sam solely because of his powers, but that had to be a part of it. Bobby could imagine 'Jessica' urging Sam to work on it, hone his powers. He wondered what the creature's excuse had been. How had it encouraged Sam to train himself enough that he had this kind of subtle control now, enough control that it impressed Clark who Bobby had seen pinning a demon for over an hour while they drove back from Sioux City?

"You were half right," Clark said. "It's important to train all aspects of your gift, but the better you get at one, the better the others will be, too. We'll get you going with some psychokinesis soon."

Sam averted his eyes and sipped his beer. "I'll work on it when I can," he said. "I'll find things here to do."

Mary gasped. "You're not coming home?"

Bobby shot her a sharp look, and Dean said her name in a warning tone, but Mary kept her eyes fixed on Sam.

Bobby was disappointed in her for letting her emotions rule. Of course Sam wouldn't plan to come home when the love of his life was here, but that was a moot point since they were killing her and ending it all. There would be no reason for him to stay when 'Jessica' was dead. Mary was reacting with a mother's fears, which he understood, but it didn't matter anymore. Sam would be going home with them, and he wasn't going to be doing it with any kind of happiness.

Sam set down his beer and said, "I don't think so. It's been good for me to be here, and I like being close to Jess. I want to stay."

Dean nodded quickly. "That makes sense. Do what you need to do, Sammy."

"Of course," Bobby agreed. "It's whatever works for you, Sam. We just want you to be happy."

When Mary continued to stare at Sam, her lips parted with shock, Bobby kicked her shin, making her start and wince.

"We understand, don't we, Mom?" Dean said pointedly.

"Yes," Mary said slowly and then a little more believably. "Of course we do. We'll miss you, but we know you'll be okay now you've found a way to hide and you've handled a demon. But you have to stay in touch."

Sam nodded eagerly. "I will."

Bobby was a little surprised Sam believed her when it was so unlikely that she would really feel that way. He could block demons from sensing him, but he couldn't stop them looking in other ways. He had taken on one demon, but that was likely a low-level lackey sent by Azazel to trigger a vision. He would be powerless against Azazel if and when he came.

Even if they didn't have a way to get Sam out of Sacramento, to give him nothing to stay for, they would have found another way to get him home to where he was protected. He supposed Sam's distraction made it easier for him to believe.

The waitress came to their table and collected their plates, "Would you like to see the dessert menu?" she asked.

"Yes," Mary said. "And can we get five coffees, please?"

"Make that four," Sam said, pushing back his chair and standing as the waitress walked away. "I've eaten enough and I'm tired. I'm going to head home."

"I'll give you a ride," Dean said, half-rising from his chair.

"No, stay and finish," Sam said, his voice the perfect level of casual. "I'll walk. It's not that far, and I know a few shortcuts."

"Okay," Dean said, sinking down again. "I'll see you in the morning. Maybe we can get breakfast together."

"Yeah, I'd like that," Sam said. "I'll see you all tomorrow."

They said their goodbye and watched Sam weaving through the tables to the exit.

"He's going to find her," Mary said darkly.

"It," Bobby corrected. "And we know. Which is why we've got to get there first. He said she shows up at the cemetery, right, Dean?"

"Yeah."

"Then we get out of here now, arm ourselves and get there before Sam," Bobby said. We're going against the clock, but if he's walking, we can beat him there."

"You guys get the weapons," Mary said. "We need knives, too. It's better if we can do it quietly. I'll pay."

Bobby and Dean rose to their feet and walked to the exit as Mary gestured to the confused waitress who was collecting a tray of coffees for them.

"We're doing the right thing, Dean," Clark said in an unusually kind voice, possibly in response to what he was sensing from Dean with his enhanced ability to empathize.

"I get it," Dean said stiffly. "But it's going to hell anyway. No matter how neatly we get this done, Sam's still losing everything tonight. That's not the right thing to me."

"That part isn't right to any of us," Bobby said. "But it's what we've got to do." He tugged Dean's arm. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

They had to hurry if they were going to get this done before Sam got there. The shapeshifter needed to be dead and the body gone before Sam arrived. And then… they'd deal with what came after together.

* * *

Sam trusted Dean with his life, but he would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't worried about him letting something slip about Jessica. Dean hated to lie even more than Sam did, and he had less of a reason to do it. Sam was lying it to protect the woman he loved. Dean was doing it to protect her for Sam.

But he knew his trust had been given to the right person. The dinner they'd shared had been proof that Mary, Bobby and Clark knew nothing about Jessica. There was no way they would have been so at ease if they had known. Dean had kept her a secret, and Sam loved him even more for it. He would never be able to pay Dean back for what he had done and would do, but he would spend his life trying to find a way.

As much as he had enjoyed dinner, Sam hadn't been able to stay a moment longer than he had. When Mary had ordered coffee, Sam had reached his limit. He was sure Jessica was waiting for him, and Sam needed to be with her. He didn't know how much she would have heard before being dragged away from him, but it was possible she'd heard Sam telling Dean the truth, and she would be scared. He had to reassure her. He could do that now with an easy mind. Dean hadn't betrayed him, not that he should have ever believed he would.

He got out of the restaurant into the cool night air and started along the sidewalk. He was more than just eager to get to Jessica now. He _needed_ to be there. He hurried along the street at a brisk pace and then stopped as a cab pulled up just in front of him and an elderly couple got out.

Sam stepped aside for them and then quickly stuck his head in the still open back door and said, "Are you booked?"

"No, buddy. Where do you want to go?"

Sam quickly slid into the backseat and slammed the door closed as he said, "Sunset Lawns Cemetery."

"Bit late for a cemetery," the cabbie said dubiously.

"I'm meeting someone," Sam said easily. "She's waiting for me. I'll pay extra if you get me there quick."

"Sure thing."

The pulled away from the sidewalk and Sam rubbed his sweaty palms nervously on the legs on his pants. He felt unusually agitated. Usually Jessica brought him peace. Perhaps it was because he knew she was surely scared and upset that made him feel that he needed to be with her immediately. He would be able to relax when he could touch her again, hold her, tell her he loved her.

The drove onto the interstate and made fast time towards the district of town the cemetery was located in. Sam watched the other cars rushing past and he tapped his foot.

Before the cab had even pulled to a stop outside the cemetery gates, Sam was handing bills through to the driver with a generous tip. The cabbie was still extolling on his surprised thanks when Sam was out and jogging through the gates to the cemetery.

She was waiting where he knew she would be, standing by her grave, her hands pressed to her chest. As Sam rushed to her, she turned and said, "Sam! What happened? What did you tell them?"

Before answering, Sam grabbed her shoulders and slammed his lips to hers. He kissed her until his need to catch his breath made him draw back and gasp. "It's okay," he said. "I only told Dean, and he understands."

Her eyes widened. "You told Dean! How could you? Don't you know what he's going to do to me?"

"No!" Sam said quickly. "He won't. I told you, he understands. He hasn't told anyone else. He's going to help me. He'll support me when I stay and they leave. He'll help me to make them understand why I can't go with them. It's all going to work out, I swear." He touched her cheek. "He's not going to let anyone hurt you, Jess. We're going to be okay."

Jessica still looked scared and he kissed her again. She returned the kiss and then froze, her gaze fixed on something over his shoulder. "They're here!"

Sam followed her gaze and saw Mary, Dean, Bobby and Clark standing at the cemetery gates. Dean was holding up his phone and something silver glinted in Clark's hand.

In the moment it took Sam to recognize the glint in Clark's hand as a knife, to question why he had it if Dean had told them she was a ghost, he was pushing Jessica away and shouting, "Run!"

She flew away from him and Sam turned on his heel, his hands raised and fists clenched, ready to defend the woman he loved from his own family.

* * *

Dean was out of the Impala and halfway through the gates to the cemetery before Mary caught his arm and said, "Dean, stop! Sam is here."

"Do you see her?" Dean hissed.

Mary peered through the dim light that came from the streetlights on the road and saw the woman standing with Sam. At least she looked like a woman. She looked like Jessica, but she knew she couldn't be.

"We can't do it now," Bobby murmured. "Not with Sam here."

"I know," Mary whispered.

Clark snapped open his silver switchblade and said, "We'll wait till he's gone and then take her out."

"He's not going to leave her," Dean said. "They'll go back to the motel together."

Clark sighed. "Then let's get out of here and come up with another way to get the evil bitch alone."

"Wait," Dean said. "I need to be sure." He took his phone from his pocket and held it up. Mary moved closer and saw the camera trained on Sam and the suspected shapeshifter.

"It's a shifter," Dean growled as its eyes flared silver on the small screen.

"Okay," Bobby said quietly. "We know for sure. Now let's get out of here before Sam sees us."

Mary took a step back and then froze as Sam leaned forward and kissed the shifter.

"Oh, god," Dean said in a strangled voice.

"That's too fucked up," Clark growled.

"We've got to go!" Bobby said.

None of them seemed able to move though. Dean was still pointing the camera at Sam and 'Jessica' and Clark was clutching his blade in his hand. Then 'Jessica's' eyes were on them and Sam was spinning to look at them.

There was a split second in which Sam just stared at them and then he shoved Jessica and shouted, "Run!"

She flew away from them and Mary ran forward, heart aching at the sight of Sam's fisted hands as he faced them but her mind set on stopping the shifter. This wasn't how any of them had wanted it to happen, but they had no choice now. The shapeshifter would never come back now her nature was exposed so they had to end her here.

'Jessica' was running but suddenly she was dragged to a halt as if an invisible hand that was holding her. She struggled, but Clark's hold on her was absolute as he pushed her to the ground and pinned her there.

Sam seemed stunned for a moment and then he ran at Clark, bowed over as if he was going to tackle him.

"Sam, no!" Mary shouted.

Dean ran at Sam and caught him around the middle, knocking him to the ground. He held Sam's shoulders down and spoke in a rush, "Stop, Sammy. It's not what you think. Listen to me for a minute. She's not really Jess."

"I trusted you!" Sam growled as Bobby knelt and leaned his weight of Sam's writhing legs. "You told them!"

"It's not her, honey," Mary said, kneeling beside him and cupping his cheek. "It's a shapeshifter."

Sam shouted with rage and Mary felt an invisible force slamming into her and throwing her away from Sam to collide hard with a large tombstone. Bobby and Dean had been thrown too. Only Clark was on his feet still, and he was holding his hands up to Sam, the blade clutched in one as 'Jessica' struggled like a wildcat against Clark's gifted hold on her.

"Look, Sam!" Clark commanded as Sam scrambled to his feet and rushed toward him. "Just see!"

"Let go of her!" Sam snarled.

"She's not a ghost!" Clark said. "I couldn't hold a ghost like this, could I? She's a shifter!"

Mary saw the shock flicker across Sam's face and she said, "It's true, honey. Just watch. We can prove it."

With one hand held up to Sam defensively, Clark bent and pressed the tip of the blade to 'Jessica's' throat.

Sam seemed frozen by shock, though he looked scared and moaned, "No," as Clark pressed the blade into Jessica's throat and drew a shallow cut across the skin. The wound reacted to the touch of silver with a spark of light, and the shapeshifter hissed in pain.

"Jess?" Sam said quietly, his voice weak with uncertainty.

"Not Jess," Dean said, struggling to get to his feet against the hold Sam had on them all. "It's not her, Sammy. It's a shapeshifter."

Sam's lips were parted and he was looking at 'Jessica' as if he had never seen her before.

She looked back at him, her eyes imploring as she said, "Baby, don't let them hurt me. It's me and you know it. This is just some trick they're playing on you. You know me. You know I'm real."

A tear slipped down Sam's cheek and he whispered her name but made no move to attack or defend. Mary felt the hold on her dropping as Sam's focus became wholly on Clark and 'Jessica'. She got to her feet and walked towards Sam. She placed her hand on his arm, flinching at the rigid feeling of him. It was as if he was carved from stone.

"This is not Jessica, Sam," Clark said. "This is a monster. You see that don't you?"

Sam nodded slowly, his face stricken.

Clark took a shaky breath. "You know what I have to do, don't you?"

"Yes," Sam whispered.

Clark pressed the blade to the center of 'Jessica's' chest and Mary watched her eyes widen as she fixated on it. For a moment, she looked terrified, and then she laughed harshly. "It's too late," she crowed. "You've already lost him. He belongs to Azazel now! You're never—"

Clark cut off her words as he shoved the blade into her heart. She bucked once, her eyes wide with disbelief, and then she stilled and they slid closed. Clark dragged the blade free and stepped away from the body as Sam staggered towards it, a keening noise coming from him.

"Sam," Mary said miserably, scared to follow him and try to comfort but desperately needing to for herself.

Sam dropped to his knees and lifted 'Jessica's' body against his chest. He buried his face in her hair and began to sob, his shoulders heaving and her name ripping from him.

"Sammy," Dean said, kneeling beside him and putting his arm around his shoulders.

Sam cried out in pain and Mary heard a word through the release of pain. "Mom!"

She rushed forward and dropped down beside Sam. He dropped the body and fell against her, sobbing desperately. Mary wrapped her arms around him and shushed and soothed. "It's okay, honey," she said. "I'm here. It's going to be okay."

"She's dead," Sam moaned. "She's really gone."

Mary kissed his hair and held him tighter. "She is."

Sam began moaning in pain, and Mary began to cry with him. Her son was suffering and all she could do was hold him. She looked up at the sky and then her eyes fell onto Bobby who was standing opposite them. He nodded once, a looked of mingled sadness and regret on his face, and she understood. They had all waited for this, feared but had no defence against it.

Sam was feeling his grief at last.

* * *

**So… I warned you, didn't I? After three instalments, sixty chapters, and months of story time passing, Sam is feeling it at last. **

**This is the last chapter of Another Last Goodbye, but there is one more instalment in the series to come called **_**Rising Power**_**.**

**See you there… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


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